Oh, Mika, Mika
by Ankhesen
Summary: Post-Movie. Clan war erupts after the fall of the Ozunu; meanwhile, a seemingly neutral clan reaches out to Raizo and Mika with an offer they cannot resist.
1. Chapter 1

**1-Hotel Red Sand**

Cornrows, the black woman's answer to every hair problem.

The day before they were supposed to leave Europe, Mika Coretti went into downtown Bordeaux to an empty African hair salon. There, a Douala woman from Cameroon played a mix of old songs by Bebey and Dibango as she tightly rolled several cornrows. While Mika sat in a faded, creaky salon chair and stared sightlessly at her reflection, the braider added synthetic hair with copper highlights, braiding them down past Mika's shoulders. She wasn't using the silky, overpriced hair, which meant once was she was done, she'd have to bend Mika over a sink, curl the ends in hot water, and bring back flashbacks from as far back as junior high.

Humorlessly, Mika snickered. Her braider was too busy humming along with her music to notice and ask what amused her customer so. Comfortably lost in their own thoughts, the two women did not speak until the braids were finished roughly two hours later.

"This should last you _trois mois_," the woman told her, while rubbing in some watered down wrap lotion and then lightly spraying Mika's whole head with an oil sheen spray—again, not the good stuff. And yet this didn't stop her from audaciously charging 80 Euros. Mika wasn't stupid; the braids were tight and all, but she was looking at three to four weeks top, and not a single day over.

_I really should just cut all this off_, Mika inwardly sighed, handing over the cash without question. A shorn head meant a fatter pocket, but cash was the least of their problems right now. If cash were to suddenly become their biggest problem, Mika would be the happiest woman alive.

Nine clans…she distinctly recalled Maslow telling her there were _nine_ ninja clans total, and even though the Ozunu were dead and gone, that still left _eight_ clans to take their place. And since taking down _one_ clan had brought about a body count high enough to give filmmaker Takashi Miike a run for _his_ money, Mika was in absolutely no mood whatsoever to get hunted by eight.

Hence…cornrows.

_Travel light_, Raizo had said. _If it does not aid survival, leave it behind_.

He didn't have to tell her twice! Two weeks ago she might have balked at leaving behind her grandmother's garish pearl headdress from the old woman's jazz days. She might have twitched at being told to forget about her father's journals from where he'd traveled the world in his youth, or the black schist urn of her favorite aunt's ashes. Mika could practically picture her mother lecturing her about the importance of family heirlooms, and two weeks ago, she just might have feel guilty enough to haul all that stuff. But her mother hadn't seen whole squads of heavily Interpol officers get mowed down by guys carrying nothing more than swords, so her mom was just going to have to _chill_.

Besides, Maslow had promised to lock all her valuables in a safety deposit box in one of Interpol's most secured vault. If she survived the days to come, then she'd get it all back.

_If_ she survived the days to come.

Raizo was a bad-ass and Mika would be the first to tell him so. However, they were alive because they'd gotten _lucky_, and neither one let the other forget it. One did not normally survive the wrath of a single Ozunu ninja, much less an entire angry clan.

She headed out of the small salon just in time for a very cold breeze to blow in from the Garonne. _Winter_, Mika thought fleetingly. It wasn't far now. There hadn't been snow yet, but it wouldn't be long. Good thing they were flying out before the storms came.

They'd only arrived in Bordeaux this morning, and Maslow had called to confirm their flights this afternoon. He'd spoken in that quiet, cautionary tone, omitting the words he really meant to say.

_Mika…are you sure this is a good idea? You're not a target anymore. _He_ still is._

Mika honestly didn't know why she felt the need to go with Raizo, or even why he was allowing it, but she didn't stop to think about it too much. She just packed her stuff the moment she was discharged from the hospital by a baffled doctor. She'd never imagined having dextrocardia would save her life; talk about her heart being on the right side of her chest!

As she crossed the bridge, Mika paused to look over the waters of the Garonne. She would miss Europe; miss the strong coffee and smoke-filled restaurants. She would miss hearing German in the streets and French in the cafés.

As she mused on thoughts of Berlin, a woman came to stand beside her. Mika didn't need to look at her to know she was she black-haired and golden skin. The woman had moved as fluidly as a breeze, as swift as a stroke of lightning, and that was never a good sign. In fact, as soon as Mika even remotely sensed her presence, her hand immediately reached under her black leather jacket for her 9mm.

"Don't bother," the stranger chuckled. Her accent bore only the slightest hint of a Japanese inflection. Indeed, she sounded more French than she did Japanese.

_She's probably stationed here_, Mika figured. In an almost metallic tone, she flatly told the stranger, "I'm not looking to get stabbed in the chest again…or lose any limbs. See, I'm kinda _fond_ of my arms and legs."

"I wouldn't take you out in midday in front of hundreds of _witnesses_, Mika," the woman snorted. "We prize _discretion_, remember?"

"Which clan?" Mika snapped back at her, never moving her hand from her gun.

"A good one," the woman laughed, shrugging casually. "A…nice one."

"You're not funny."

"Tell Raizo he's caused quite a stir amongst the remaining Eight," the woman sighed breezily. "He has enemies—this he already knows. The sisters of Ozunu, however, bear him no ill will."

Mika nodded, briefly recalling names and lore from her research. "Followers of Takako," she nodded grimly. "Murasaki Clan."

The woman laughed gaily now, her voice sweetly musical, though Mika suddenly noticed the lack of emotion. "'I who am Takako,'" she whimsically quote an old poem, 'lie naked and awash against the burning red sand….'"

"'My vault of secrets deep as the ocean's heart,'" Mika finished with a curt nod. "Something you're trying tell me?"

"Not you—_him_," the woman replied, and here note of impatience entered her voice. "Just…tell him of the red sand." She started to walk away, and Mika finally looked at her. Of course, she could only see the woman's back now, but she watched anyway. She…_they_…seemed to struggle when walking amongst people. She'd noticed this about Raizo too; they seemed to work very hard to pass as "normal" when they moved around in the daytime, amongst people. Slower steps, carefully measured, polite nods…all carefully calculated body language geared toward assuring strangers they were harmless.

Raizo had once likened ninjas to wolves. Now Mika had to tack on "in sheep's clothing" to that.

***

She headed back to their hotel room, located about a kilometer or so from the airport. Hopefully Raizo was back from wherever he was right now, which was another thing…where did he go? Whom did he speak to and what about? It bothered her that she knew so little about him, while he knew pretty much everything about her. But by the way she resolutely returned to their room, Mika knew it didn't bother her enough.

She was the only one with the key, but she locked the door securely behind her anyway. Something told her he wouldn't have any trouble getting in.

She flicked on the lights in the room, plopped down into a chair near the bed and lit a cigarette. She didn't really inhale, and she wasn't even sure why she kept doing this now. The Ozunu were dead, but now the Murasaki had her scent.

Like with many other things, it had become a habit of hers. She always showered with plain, unscented soap now. She rubbed her skin with unscented oil and didn't spray on any perfume. She didn't even wear jewelry anymore, or heels. Jeans, plain shirts, a black leather jacket, combat boots and a 9mm—this was her life now.

Mika put out her cigarette and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth with baking soda. When she returned, Raizo was sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly sliding out of his long black coat. The pale gray thermal he wore hugged those giant biceps of his, and stretched tightly across his broad and perfect chest.

Mika felt her heartbeat quicken, and her voice quavered slightly when she spoke.

"I knew you'd find a way in," she said simply, smiling a little and leaning against the door way.

He shrugged that easy, almost mocking shrug of his while he unlaced and slipped out of his boots and replied, "Hotel rooms are easy."

Raizo spoke with a heavy bass to his voice. It surprised Mika every time, because his voice contrasted sharply with his smooth and youthfully innocent face. And whenever he smiled with those full, perfect lips of his, Raizo looked absolutely angelic.

But Mika knew better. She'd seen this innocent, angelic-looking man bash open human skulls, eviscerate, and maim fellow clan members. And how could she forget…underneath that deceptively plain gray thermal were innumerable vicious scars across his back, chest, and even those wonderfully broad shoulders.

However, when he looked up at her, noting her new hair with the slightest twinkle in his dark, slender, seemingly harmless eyes, Mika instantly forgot about all those things.

"The copper is good with your skin," he nodded in approval. "You remind me of earth and sunset."

Mika lowered her head, suddenly shy. "Thank you."

"A very…efficient hairstyle," he remarked, a slender eyebrow raised.

Self-conscious, she patted the side of her head. "Yeah…I thought it would be."

Raizo tsked and shook his head, rising to slip off his gray thermal. "You're starting to think like a ninja, Mika."

Which reminded her…. "I met one today."

Raizo paused, having only pulled his shirt up halfway up his chest. In this frozen pose, he looked as though her were flashing her. Mika deliberately forced herself not to look at his stomach; it was too finely honed and his skin was too beautifully golden, even beneath the scars.

"She wanted me to tell you about red sand."

Raizo let go of his thermal; letting the gray fabric fall and cover his body.

_No…._

"Murasaki," he murmured, sitting back down on the bed.

"What do they want?" Mika asked, oddly not caring about the Murasaki. She wanted him to lift his shirt again. She wanted him to take it off, hop in the shower like he did every evening, and then come back out with his long, silky black hair deliciously dripping wet.

"They wish to grant us asylum," Raizo answered her stiffly.

Mika blinked, standing up straight now. She hadn't been expecting that. But then again, it explained why the messenger didn't kill her.

"What?" she asked. "Why would they do that?"

"Clan war," Raizo said simply, and he seemed to bite out the words while staring at the floor. "Now that Ozunu is gone, others will try to take its place as the Elder Clan."

"And Murasaki is, what…enlisting you as an ally?"

Raizo shook his head. "Murasaki is neutral. The Clan of the Red Sand is _always_ neutral."

"But…why?" Mika pressed, using this as an excuse to come sit next to him.

"The Followers of Takako are not like the other clans; they prize wisdom over warfare, Mika," Raizo said mildly. He finally lifted his head to look at her. The soft, almost weary look in his eyes endeared him to her, warming her insides. And the way he said her name….

_I feel safe with him_, she realized. _I had to stay with him, because I'll never feel safe alone again_. She couldn't ever go back to her old life.

"I still don't understand why they'd want to keep us safe," Mika admitted softly. "I don't see how it benefits them."

"Nor do I," Raizo sighed, laying back. Mika swallowed to see him sprawl out like that, stretching those strong arms and looking so inviting. She had to resist the instinct to lie down next to him. "But we cannot refuse their hospitality; they will see it as an insult and we cannot withstand the wrath of all eight clans."

Mika nodded, understanding immediately. "Do we cancel our flight?"

"Yes," Raizo answered, his eyes locked onto the ceiling. "The Murasaki have a safehouse here in Bordeaux. It's based out of an old hotel."

"Do we go now?"

"No," he shook his head slightly, his black hair lightly falling away and revealing more his perfect face. "Tonight…should be just us." He looked at her again, even more wearily this time. "For tomorrow…." He trailed off, and Mika understood.

"Gotcha," she nodded, even though she wasn't entirely sure what he meant about tomorrow. As daylight drained from the window, there was an awkward pause for some reason, and then it hit her. "Um…Raizo," she started uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes, "about the bed—"

"I prefer to sleep on the right," he told her simply, shift his head slightly to look at her. Though she wasn't looking back, she could feel eyes on her neck.

"Okay," she nodded nervously, swallowing as her heart began to pound. She cursed it once she remembered he could hear it. "Okay," she repeated stupidly. "Uh…I'll go slip into a…uh, T-shirt or something."

She rose and entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and stripping down even as she remembered she'd forgotten to bring a T-shirt with her.

"Mika—" Raizo entered the bathroom suddenly, large white T-shirt in hand (one of his), holding it out to her very calmly. Startled, Mika stood froze as she realized she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but panties. Immobilized by shock, she didn't even think to lift her arms to cover her breasts.

"You forgot this," he told her neutrally, eyes drilling unreadably into hers.

Mika gawked at him like an idiot, her heart thudding wildly in her chest as her mouth remained hanging open. Finally, she mustered up the mobility to take the shirt from him. His eyes suddenly skipped from her face to her breasts, and that slender dark eyebrow immediately went up again.

"Nice," he told her with a slight nod, before turning and exiting the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Bad Man**

He could smell her.

Smilingly wryly at the ceiling, Raizo was amused that Mika was having trouble falling asleep next to him. Her heart, with its unusual positioning, beat rapidly in her chest as she pointedly avoided rolling over to get more comfortable. In a way he was grateful she didn't, because Raizo didn't really feel like explaining the giant tent he was pitching just now.

Because if she saw it, they'd have to have "the conversation."

And if they were to have _that_ conversation—which he was actually eager to have—then they'd have to have that _other_ conversation which, for now, he was more than content to do without.

There was just _so much_ he hadn't told her.

For starters, Raizo was a bad man, and he didn't have trouble admitting it. And his "badness" had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the whole merciless killing machine thing he had going—no, no, no…his issues were much, much, much, much, much older and deeper than _that_.

Raizo sometimes fantasized about talking to a psychiatrist. Not because he felt he needed therapy, but because he always thought it would be amusing to see the look on a shrink's face when he told her his story and unveiled his scars. But if he were to actually self-examine in a therapy session, he supposed he would say the source of his "badness" was selfishness. His darkest, probably most shameful secret which he could _never_ admit to Mika in a million years was that he'd actually _liked_ being honed and sculpted into a vicious, unstoppable assassin.

In fact, he'd liked it so much he was willing to leave his first love to her fate. So much that he'd stood by and done nothing during Kiriko's execution.

And now…he was being selfish with Mika Coretti.

If Raizo were to continue being honest with himself, then he'd have to admit Mika was no longer in any real danger from the clans. The only clan really targeting her had been the Ozunu, and they were all either dead or very soon to be dead…or dying somewhere very slowly and painfully right now. Her probing and prodding had humiliated the Ozunu; she'd found them when they were supposed nothing more than a myth, and a shadow of a myth.

In a way, she'd been their undoing. And now that they were all dead, the other clans actually had her to thank.

So…if Raizo were to be _completely_ honest with himself, he'd have to face the fact that the longer Mika hung out with him, the closer she came to danger.

But of course…he wasn't going to tell her _that_.

Whoever invented perfume was a fool; the scent of a woman was indeed the most electrifying, intoxicating force in the universe. Now that Mika no longer indulged fragrances of any sort, Raizo could smell her, the _real_ her, and she smelled marvelous. She liked all things pineapple; she drank a glass of organic pineapple juice every morning with a bran muffin and ate a can of pineapple slices in water every afternoon. The sweet smell oozed through her pores, coupling with her own scent, and quite naturally, causing him to pitch a tent.

Raizo sighed, brushing his long hair out of his face. _Guess she's not the only one who's having trouble sleeping_.

He smirked, recalling how appalled Mika looked when she finally emerged from the bathroom (some nine years later) and saw him lounging on the bed with a book, wearing nothing but his black jockeys, his right leg propped up and the light from the nightstand lamp splashing all over his body.

Raizo snickered, remembering how long it had taken to pry her own jaw off the floor.

Of course, the second he recalled the sight of her high, perky dark breasts, he stopped snickering and his breath immediately caught in his throat. Her clothing was deceptive; her plain shirts and her leather jacket lied about how round and heavy her breasts were…but it was the type of lie he could forgive.

He looked over at her back, watching her breathing finally even out as she began to slowly drift off to sleep. He listened to her heart, waiting for it to hit the rhythm which indicated sleep, and once it did, he reached for her shoulder without hesitance and rolled her onto her back.

_I'm going to hell. I'm going to burn there for a thousand years_.

Not that it stopped Raizo from pushing down the bedcovers and sliding the plain white T-shirt up her dark, slender body, revealing its perfectly smooth skin. He pushed the T-shirt up past her breasts and upon glimpsing them once more, felt a dangerous tremor ripple through him.

_I'm going to hell_.

The plastic surgeon had done wonders with her scar; already the skin between her breasts was healing magnificently. The heavy globes rose and fell slowly, torturing him with every breath…he felt his skin flush and his head swim and pound as down below his waist, he painfully strained towards her.

_I'm going to hell_.

It would be worth it, though. Taking the left nipple into his mouth and savoring the taste of unscented skin…massaging both breasts, feeling their weight and warmth…it was _more_ than worth it.

Of course, tasting and massaging soon fell to feverish kissing and exploring, and it came as no surprise to Raizo that he lost control so quickly. He actually gave himself some credit for lasting this long; he'd had to hold himself back for weeks now while that Ryan Maslow guy had spent every day trying to talk Mika out of going away with "that ninja".

_Fucking bastard_.

The dark, secret selfishness in Raizo defiantly raised its head; anger bubbled and burned in his blood as he fully succumbed to and admitted his desire to himself. He had known he wanted Mika—he'd have to be blind and stupid not to—but it had never occurred to him he wanted her _this_ badly. He hadn't imagined the craving bordered on madness. In fact, only now, while thinking of that idiot Maslow and feeling a violent wave of annoyance, did Raizo realize just how possessive of her he really felt.

Mika suddenly moaned in her sleep, instinctively arching her back into his blistering hot kisses, probably thinking it was all a dream. Smirking, Raizo deviously nipped at her skin; he could live with her thinking it was all a dream…at least, _this_ time.

The second moan, however, was louder, filling the hushed room and nearly sending him over the edge.

_I shouldn't have walked in on her_, he chided himself. _It was a mistake_.

_It made it even harder to stay away_.

"Hard" was understatement; at some point, he'd unknowingly slipped between her legs to access her breasts more comfortably head on. Now he was brushing against her below the waist with every subtle movement and it was driving him so crazy he was starting to leak.

_I miscalculated,_ he mentally kicked himself._ I might have been able to hold out a little longer if I hadn't gone in to give her the damn T-shirt_.

_I showed her mine_, another part of him thought defensively._ I'm _always_ showing her mine. I'm always taking off my shirts in front of her, always walking past her with nothing but a towel around my hips to and from the bathroom._

_I just thought it would be nice for her to reciprocate for a change_.

After touching himself while listening to her shower countless times now, Raizo's "curiosity" had finally won out. He thought a peek would be harmless, playful even. He perversely relished the look on Mika's face when the bathroom door opened and he gotten to witness her in all her naked glory.

Well, not _all_ her naked glory.

Reaching down on an impulse, Raizo took hold off her cotton panties and deftly stripped them away (he had no clue how he'd explain it in the morning) before impatiently pushing her smooth, dark thighs far, far apart, until she was completely open to him. Urgency coursed through him, speeding up his breathing and heart rate.

Breasts were not enough; he had to see more, know more, _taste_ more. The days to come were not going to be easy for either of them, and it might be a very long while before he'd get a chance to drag her off somewhere by her hair and do every single filthy, unspeakable thing he fantasized about doing to her night after _night_ after _**night**_.

So in the meantime, he would need something to tie him over before it drove him completely mad. Bringing his face down between her thighs, he pried her labia apart with his fingers.

Indeed…she tasted sweet. He held her legs firmly apart as he buried his mouth between them, tasting a faint hint of pineapple. He was throbbing and straining so powerfully against the mattress now that he knew if he didn't stop soon, he was just going to give in this insanity and take her.

_And when she wakes up while I'm plowing into her like a psycho, I'll explain that…_ how, _exactly?_

Mika moaned in her sleep again, head rolling side to side as he pleasured her mercilessly again and again. Her noises shut down all thinking, driving Raizo to simply soldier on. He toyed with her, explored her, satisfying as many questions his body had about hers as possible.

***

The first orgasm ripped through Mika like a tidal wave, waking her. She lay disoriented for a moment, trying to make sense of reality, as her blurry vision slowly cleared. That's when she caught a glimpse of long, silk black moving between her thighs, sending electric, subsequent ripples through her. Mika blinked, certain she was still asleep.

"Raizo?"

He seemed to be…busy at the moment; _so_ busy, in fact, he didn't hear his name the first time. Mika was torn between succumbing and demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing taking advantage of sleeping woman.

But he was…_busy_…and he was _good_ at being busy.

Her breath started coming in gasps and she was having a little trouble sitting up (he'd cupped her buttocks, lifted her off the bed, and she was unable to stop her legs from linking ankles around his neck).

"_Raizo_…," she weakly tried protesting once more, even as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her heart thudded so hard she thought it was going to explode.

"Raizo!"

That finally stopped him. He looked up at Mika, blinking several times as if to clear his head before gently setting down her hips.

She suddenly wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

_No…._

She thought he was going to move away from, and apologize while he did so. Instead, Raizo stared at her for a moment, trembling as though at war with himself over something.

His ridiculously sculpted body shook with whatever he was trying to hold back, and he bit that perfect bottom lip of his as if to prevent himself from speaking.

"Raizo," Mika murmured, finally forcing herself to sit up (and noticing he was still kneeling between her legs, refusing to budge), "what are you—"

He reached out with feline reflex, grabbing a hold of her T-shirt's neckline. With one jerk, he stripped the entire thing from her body and hurled it across the hotel room. Mika's mouth fell open as she watched him sigh—in relief, it seemed—to see her completely naked before.

As if he'd been _waiting_ to see her naked…and for a long time.

Mika's heart pounded. _Has he? Is that what walking in on me was all about?_

"Oh, Mika, Mika," Raizo shook his head, chuckling very faintly, lips twisting in a wry smile. "Mika, Mika, Mika…." He slid his thumbs into the waist of his jockeys and shoved them down.

Mika stopped breathing.

_Well…__** damn**_.

"_Mika_," he breathed, moving in, pushing her down onto the mattress and pinning her there with his body, his burning skin pressing against hers. He touched his forehead to hers, boldly looking into her eyes as he held her hips firmly in place…and slowly worked himself into her. He was slick, leaking, pulsing like an animal.

_Oh…damn_.

Her body instinctively resisted at first, prompting him to move his hips in slow, dangerous movement, filling her with deliberate strokes and creating mind-numbing friction. Her eyes closed to his and she couldn't stop them. Nor could she stop her own body from jerking upward to receive every inch of him, nor could stop her fingers from sinking into his soft, shimmering midnight hair.

_So silky…just as I always thought_.

In vain, she tried to speak.

"Rai….Raiz—"

"Shhhh," he hushed her softly. The tender whisper starkly contrasted the quickening rhythm. Sensuous stroking was rapidly turning into honest, impatient pounding, causing the bed itself to lightly squeak in protest.

Mika gave up speech. The demanding movements of his body rendered her to a clawing, head-rolling, trembling mass of moans and gasps. There was a wickedness in the pleasure he gave her; even as she could barely focus she was aware he was watching and relishing her every reaction.

He liked how that he could do this to her, make her lose control and react to him this way.

He liked taking relentless command of her body, forcing it to obey only him.

_God…damn_.

The bed went from lightly squeaking to loudly creaking now, harmonizing with the rush of cries from Mika. She couldn't take much more of this…couldn't handle anything else….

Raizo must have sensed this, because he chose that moment to lean in, brush her right ear with his deviously full lips, and instead of moan, gasp, or murmur, he bluntly spoke to her with his usual bass tone which came out so low, deep, and unflinching it almost sounded like a growl.

"Mika…you taste just like pineapple."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for all the great feedback guys! Couple of points...I didn't actually know about the pineapple fetish, LOL - I had this friend in college who swore up and down that drinking juices like pineapple made a woman..."sweeter." Another friend said it was true for physiological reasons. But if the pineapple thing is going to be trend in NA fandom (winks at Aleksiina), then by all means, I'm happy to contribute._

_LOVING the psychological observations, by the way (looks at FSO)._

_Sorry for the delay, and sorry to end the last chapter the way I did, but didn't expect to be so busy this week. Working on Ch 4 right now. In the meantime...enjoy!_

* * *

**Scarlet Wolves**

Mika Coretti wasn't surprised Raizo brought about her second orgasm with his mouth…again.

_What…the…hell…is_ happening _here?_

Even as her body clenched and tightened beneath his and her nails clawed deep into his sweaty back…even as his hips labored on, driving into her and shaking the whole bed, she dimly thought about how fuzzy she still was on the _why_ of the situation.

_Why? Why now?_

His sudden low rasp cut into her thoughts. "_Mika_…."

She could tell he wasn't going to last much longer. Their bed was practically shrieking bloody murder under Raizo's frenzied assault. Long gone were the smooth, deliberately moves and soft, low gasps. Gone were his discipline and his rational calm; Raizo was a man unhinged and undone by desire…and _she_ had brought it about.

_Is that why I woke up to him going down on me? He saw my tits…and just couldn't hold back anymore?_

Fresh off the heels of her second orgasm, Mika immediately felt a third coming.

_She'd_ done this to him—of _course_ he wanted her! He'd just played it cool all long. Allowing her to come away with him, always slowly undressing in front her, noticing everything she changed about herself and paying her compliments accordingly, finding every excuse to say her name….

_How did I _miss_ that?_

"Mika…_Mika_…."

She felt the inner tidal wave building again, the familiar tingling and tightening heating her entire body as her sweat mixed with his and soaked the sheets. He was unable to focus, to keep his eyes open as he rained her mouth, neck, and breasts with hot, moist kisses, moaning her name between them.

She felt it was her turn to take command.

On impulse, Mika gripped his shoulders and forcefully rolled them both over, firmly placing herself on top and controlling the movements. She didn't slow down and tease him; she simply bit her bottom lip and focused on channeling all her energy into her hips, riding him as ferociously as he had her. Raizo's head rolled back, spilling black hair across pale pillows as he groaned in surrender. The great soldier, the infamously feared assassin…reduced to mindless moaning by a woman.

"_Mika_…_**fuck**__—_"

It was the first obscenity she'd ever heard him say and the mere utterance made them _both_ lose it. Giving themselves over to sheer insanity, the two erupted…Mika felt her eyesight darken as her body filled with violent, scorching hot liquid bursts. Her shuddered violently before collapsing next to his, and for a time, she knew neither sight nor sound.

***

They slept for a time, noses pressed against each other's, arms possessively draped across each other and legs intertwined. The sweat cooled and dried from their naked bodies, evaporating and filling the hotel room with their mingled scents. At dawn, Mika was the first to wake.

She smirked at the sleeping Raizo, amused that she'd worn him out in less time than a horde of masked killers. Triumphant and naked, she sauntered into the bathroom, blasting the hot water, taking her time to soak in the wet heat, and smiling at the slightly bruised, throbbing feel between her thighs.

He wanted her. All this time, he wanted, to the point that at the mere sight of her breasts, he could hold himself back no more.

What's he going to say when he wakes up?

She stepped from the mists of the shower stall, drying off lightly and heading to the mini-bar. She poured the last cup of her organic pineapple juice and savored its sweetness, recalling Raizo's words from the night before.

…_you taste just like pineapple_.

Mika smiled blissfully, eyes closed until she heard him stir and rise up from their bed.

"My turn, I guess," he mumbled sleepily, sliding out of bed in his black jockeys and heading off to the shower. Mika sifted through her clothes, looking for something "efficient", as usual, while she craved the bran muffin which usually accompanied her juice. She lived in jeans these days, it seemed; jeans and plain tops. Normally, she'd be worried, but it didn't bother her so much this time.

_It didn't matter_. It _hadn't_ mattered. It wasn't going to matter ever again.

When he emerged from the shower, all friendly smiles as usual, Mika noticed he still wasn't talking about what happened. Her curiosity kept her silent; she wanted to see how a man like Raizo handled this sort of thing. He'd _clearly_ had lovers before; he knew his way around the female body far too well not to. And a man didn't develop his level of stamina without sufficient practice.

Mika suddenly had a disturbing flash of Raizo throwing some unknown woman onto all fours and driving into her from behind. The image made her twitch. She tried to stop her mind before it ran away with itself, but she was too late. Now the questions were bubbling to the surface, and each one bothered her more than the last.

How many women had Raizo slept with? Was he ever in love with any of them? Did he accidentally knock up some chick and not know about it?

Did he have a "type"? Was _she_ his "type"? Or maybe last night was curiosity thing…maybe that's why he'd let her come along because he'd just wanted to know what she'd be like in bed…maybe he had a fetish…maybe—

_Maybe this is precisely why I shouldn't be thinking about this shit_, Mika cringed, willing her anxiety to silence itself before all her girlhood insecurities came flooding back. Like…did he notice cellulite? She didn't have much, and the seaweed soap she'd been using had done wonders so far—dear God…did stretch marks turn him off? She made sure to rub hers with cocoa butter every morning…or at least she _used_ to, back before her new "all things unscented" kicked. And _fuck_—would they have to keep their sex in the dark so he wouldn't see that ludicrous tattoo she got the drunken summer of her sophomore year….

_Woman, stop!_ Mika yelled at herself, even as she smiled sweetly back at Raizo while they packed their belongings and headed out into downtown Bordeaux. There were more important things than stretch marks and cellulite and Pam Grier with an afro….

As soon as they entered growing cold of the outside world, Mika immediately noticed how quickly Raizo's grimness returned. He walked stiffly, as though trying to appear "harmless" while still keeping his wits and reflexes about him.

"When we go to Hotel Red Sand," he said lowly, "do not tell the Murasaki _anything_ about yourself. Deflect every question, and listen closely to whatever they say."

Mika asked him flat out, "You think you'll think they'll kill us in our sleep?"

"No," he shook his head. "If there is any clan with a sense of honor, it's the sisters of Ozunu. They have mediated disputes and ended clan wars throughout the centuries. They have promoted ideas of unity and kinship amongst the clans."

Mika was confused. "Then…I don't see the problem."

"Their first priority are the clans," Raizo replied darkly, "Their ultimate loyalty is to the clans. They will do whatever they believe is in the best interest of the clan, not outsiders like you and me. You see, from childhood, ninja are raised to think individual lives are meaningless compared to that of the clan as a unit." He paused, as he often did, no doubt remembering some unpleasant training exercise from his childhood experience. "An assassin cannot fulfill her duty if she values the life of her target."

"Have you met many of the Murasaki?" Mika asked.

"Several over the years," Raizo nodded.

"What are they like?"

"Efficient warriors," he told her bluntly, "as skilled, focused, and ruthless as any of the other clans. One tried to kill me in Berlin, while I was doing my laundry."

"But if you killed her—and I'm guessing you did since you're still here—how will the Murasaki receive you?"

Rain chuckled softly, which Mika found odd. What could possibly be humorous about their situation?

"The clans live by similar philosophy, Mika," he explained, and she didn't miss the delicate shiver he caused by saying her name. "Failure is not tolerated. It is better to die on a mission than to live…while your target _also_ still lives." He shrugged. "I did her favor."

There was something deeply wrong with what he said, but Mika couldn't quite put her finger on it. In the meantime, she had other questions. "Who runs the Murasaki?"

"They are led by Lady Kameyo," Raizo replied, as his eyes took on a faraway look. "They call her the Tortoise Woman…for her wisdom."

"How old is she?"

Raizo shrugged. "Sixty-something by now, maybe even seventy. I only met her once when I was a child. She came to our compound when I was about nine or ten to see Lord Ozunu. I poured their tea while they talked, and I remember she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Very graceful, _very_ strong. She wielded shuriken and naginata with skill superior even to that of Lord Ozunu himself."

Mika was both impressed and intimidated. It was great to hear about strong women within the clans. But at the same, they _were_ walking into the lioness's den and she wasn't sure how safe she felt about that.

Hotel Red Sand, though tall and covering several thousand square feet, looked old and neglected on the outside; indeed, people walked by its faded and peeling crimson walls and boarded up windows without a second glance. Mika was briefly amused by how this clan of ninja had a safehouse in the middle of a city and nobody except them knew.

_Hiding in plain sight_, she smiled to herself. _Amazing_.

A _very_ old woman with milky eyes and wild gray hair opened the large creaky wooden double doors. She took one look at them before wordlessly letting them in. Clearly, they were expected.

Though rather dark, the inside starkly contrasted the outside; the walls were freshly painted a resplendent scarlet shade, and the windows and doorways were draped with long, black lace curtains. Black marble fountains flowed red water over red sand, and thick incense burned on numerous altars of female deities from ages past. Mika vaguely recognized a few here and there…she knew Amaterasu by the brilliant sun backing her, and Omoikane, a goddess of wisdom, by the tortoise she cradled in her arms.

"You are Raizo, last of the Ozunu," a voice stated crisply in a French-flavored Japanese accent, causing the two strangers to turn. "And you are Mika Coretti."

A tall, well-built woman with a prim chignon and loose-fitting black sleeveless tunic and pants approached them barefoot from the smoky shadows. She was a beautiful, clear-skinned woman, but like Raizo, she had scars. Unlike Raizo, however, she deftly incorporated hers into her many colorful tattoos.

She clearly wasn't _asking_, so Raizo and Mika didn't answer.

"I am Noriko," the woman went on. "Lady Kameyo says we are to house you until she arrives tomorrow night. She says you are under our protection." She looked over Raizo coldly. "No man has _ever_ stayed at Hotel Red Sand, much less one who brought about the death of his entire clan. Nevertheless, we have prepared a room for you in the North Wing."

Raizo arched an eyebrow. "Mika says with me."

Noriko rolled her dark eyes. "Unlike _some_, Raizo, Murasaki do not break our word, and we would never mistreat a _female_ guest. You would know this," she added sarcastically, "if your Ozunu blood weren't so thin."

"Ozunu blood was never my blood," Raizo snickered humorlessly, "as I am guessing Murasaki blood was never yours."

Noriko laughed, and despite the woman's musical voice, Mika still cringed.

"We Murasaki bear our _own_, Raizo," she snorted. "Not all clans are orphan-thieves. I am _true_ Murasaki, as was my mother, and her mother before her."

Raizo was taken aback; he blinked speechlessly for several seconds and it did not make Mika feel better. Their survival depended upon Raizo _not_ being surprised, much less by the little things.

"Yes," Noriko nodded, genuinely amused, "As Takako would say, 'I am warrior from the womb.'"

It was now Mika's turn to blink. _I must have missed that verse in my research_.

"This is Shiori; you met on the bridge, yesterday," Noriko introduced. Shiori had appeared from nowhere, it seemed; Mika had to take a step back in surprise as the lithe woman suddenly drew abreast of her. "Shiori, take Mika to her room. Raizo, we must speak." Noriko gestured to some shadowy doorway, and Raizo nodded.

But before they could walk off, Shiori stated clearly, "I like how this one smells. So sweet…just like pineapple."

Raizo shot a deadly look at Shiori, who merely grinned in return.

As Noriko finally led Raizo away by the arm and Mika's jaw lay on the floor, Shiori snickered, looking her over and cocking her head to the side. She really was a pretty woman, late twenties. Like Noriko, she was clear-skinned, dressed in a black sleeveless tunic and over matching pants, her tattoos and makeup disguising her scars. Unlike Noriko, however, Shiori was wearing her long, midnight-colored hair down. It fell in splendid waves about her shoulders.

Shiori reached out slowly, carefully and delicately fingered Mika's coppery cornrows. Mika was used to people touching her hair without her permission, but it never stop infuriating her. In defiant annoyance, she reached out and touched Shiori's hair right back.

It didn't faze the young ninja, though. In fact, Shiori actually remarked, "Your hairstyle is both flattering and efficient. You must do mine the same way."

Mika raised an eyebrow. "I'll teach you how to do it yourself," she offered, "if you tell me all about the Murasaki."

Shiori laughed. "_Pourquoi_, Mika? So you can type up a pretty report and mail it Maslow?"

"Hardly," Mika snorted. She wasn't normally a sarcastic woman, but for some reason, Shiori brought it out of her in waves. "I'm just curious how an all-female clan survived the _obviously_ patriarchal system of the ninja."

There was a flicker in Shiori's eyes; she hadn't been expecting that. Mika felt an immediate twinge of self-satisfaction.

_See, bitch? I can bust out the surprises too_.

"_Viens avec moi_," Shiori said suddenly, and headed for a shadowy doorway in the western wall.

The doorway led to some cramped stairs, which in turn led to the darkened second floor. Shiori moved swiftly and deftly through the unlit halls, and Mika had to work to keep up. They finally came to a small room with tatami-covered floors, a plain futon, and mural-painted walls. There were some blankets folded in one corner, and a table of candles and incense in another. Shiori lit a few candles and stood up, wallowing in the flickering light.

"We wake at dawn here," she told Mika. "No exceptions. You will bathe with the rest of us in the bathhouse so we do not waste time and water. We eat all our meals together as well. Obviously," she smirked, "you will not practice with us, but you _may_ browse our library. We have five centuries' worth of diaries written by _thousands_ of members of the Murasaki." She relished the look of awe on Mika's face.

"Who _was_ Takako?" Mika asked suddenly.

"You have heard of Lady Murasaki Shikibu the novelist, _oui?_" Shiori asked.

Mika nodded. "Murasaki Shikibu wasn't her real name," she said in a daze. "Some think she was the Imperial Court lady-in-waiting, Fujiwara…Takako." Mika took a step back, blinking in shock.

Shiori shook her head. "It's not what you think. Like many ninja, _our_ Takako had a different name as a child. Her blood was common, and her family poor. Her parents sold her into her servitude when she was four, and the people who purchased her were Ozunu. She was given the name 'Akane' – 'brilliant red'.

"When she was fourteen, a daimyo sent his daughter to the Imperial Court in hopes of acquiring a royal marriage. Naturally, their rivals would not stand for it. They called upon the Ozunu to take out the daimyo's daughter, and young 'Akane' was chosen. She infiltrated the court as a maiden, where she glimpsed the beauty and the elegance of Heian noblewomen. She stayed _much_ longer than she was supposed to, learning about poetry, music, dance from the many ladies-in-waiting to Empress Shoshi. When she had learned enough, she completed her task, returned home with target's head and a new name: Murasaki Takako."

Mika raised an eyebrow. "I take it the Ozunu didn't much care for her little makeover."

Shiori her head. "_Non_…they were appalled. They didn't like for their students to be literate and appreciative of cultural finery. They thought it was frivolous distraction which would inspire students to run away, especially the female ones. But Takako argued that by combining creative arts with martial arts, many techniques could be improved—and she was right."

"How did she get to form her own clan?" Mika couldn't deny the burning curiosity. She was becoming deeply…in _awe_ of the Murasaki, and she wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing.

"When she was twenty," Shiori explained coolly clan war broke out when two ninja from different clans broke the rules and fell in love, and sought to have a child. Takako argued on their behalf, saying it would be more efficient if clans bred their own children, but this time, the clan lords refused to listen. She—and several other female ninja—withdrew to a seaside village and stayed neutral while the clans fought. When the dust settled, as they say, many lives were lost and the Ozunu was in no shape to force Takako's hand. She created her own, the Murasaki, and its very first law was to _never_ needlessly take the life of a fellow ninja."

"But Raizo broke that law," Mika pointed suddenly on edge.

"He is Ozunu," Shiori shook her head, "not Murasaki. He follows…different laws."

Mika stared at her. "Different how?"

Shiori paused, as though mulling her words over carefully before replying, "Well, let's just say that of all the clans, the physical—and mental—conditioning of the Ozunu was the most…sadistic."


	4. Chapter 4

**Stories on the Wall**

While Mika was getting detailed history lesson, Raizo was getting a lot less.

Sipping lukewarm tea in a sitting room covered with aging tatami mats, he knelt across from Noriko, watching her warily, unwilling to simply accept her non-answers. She either really didn't know much, or knew but didn't want to spill ahead of schedule and risk incurring her mistress's wrath.

_I wonder_, Raizo mused, _how the Murasaki punish their own for telling too much_. His clan leaders had never hesitated to cut out the tongues of talkative students; Lord Ozunu himself had been known to say he didn't see why his children needed to talk anyhow. Silence was a ninja's first language after all, was it not?

"Kameyo-sama has been meeting with heads of all the other clans trying to stop the bloodshed," Noriko said neutrally. "The other clans tracked down all remaining Ozunu and wiped them out—except for you. But they will try; in order for another to assume the title of Elder Clan, every last one of you must be exterminated."

"Unless Kameyo-sama's wisdom prevails," Raizo said neutrally. "She has mediated clan disputes before."

"Several times," Noriko nodded, "since before you and I were born. However, this is about far more than money or territory, Raizo. For the first time in our entire history, we are _back_ to eight clans. You haven't seen true carnage until you see pride, greed, and envy full consume _hundreds_ of warriors."

Raizo blinked. "Envy? Envy for what?"

Noriko snorted. "The Ozunu mastered shadow-bending a full century before the other clans. The Ozunu mastered self-healing, which no other clan ever did. Lord Ozunu himself was the wealthiest of the clan lords, and for the past five hundred years, _his_ clan was every government's first choice when they needed a rival taken out." She gave a wry smirk. "Resentment is truly an ugly thing, Raizo, especially when it's had _centuries_ to fester."

Raizo paused to digest this bit of information, still trying to see where he fit in. Even after his death, clan war would continue so…why? Why was Lady Kameyo protecting him? Was she going to offer his head up to the highest bidder?

"I need to see Mika," he said suddenly. "Now."

"We've been over this," Noriko sighed. "She's safe."

"I _know_ she's safe," Raizo replied curtly, letting his irritation show, "but that doesn't mean I can't _see_ her…_now_."

Noriko paused, eyeing him for a moment before giving in and leading the way. They found Mika Coretti and Shiori still together. Shiori was sitting cross-legged and eyeing herself in hand-held mirror while Mika knelt behind her, skillfully braiding the ninja's hair. For some reason, the sight of them like that disturbed the living hell out of him.

Mika had just finished the last braid when Raizo entered the room like a towering storm, glaring at Shiori.

"Get out," he ordered her, stepping aside from the darkened doorway. "Now."

Shiori snorted derisively instead, calmly patting her head to make sure her cornrows were tight enough. "Or you'll do _what?_" she asked.

"The last time I crossed paths with a Murasaki," Raizo told her honestly, "I cut her up and stuffed in her a dryer in a downtown Laundromat."

Behind Shiori, Mika stiffened at his declaration, and Raizo cursed himself for speaking thusly in front of her. But what was done could not be undone, and now he had to finish what he started.

So he took a menacing step towards Shiori. "The First Law of the Murasaki forbids you from harming me or Mika," he said in an iron tone, "but even if there were still any Ozunu laws left, _none_ of them would forbid me from doing to you what I did to your sister."

Shiori dropped the mirror at once and smoothly rose to her feet, quick as lightning. Mika's breath audibly caught; her special heart began to pound. Raizo steeled himself against instinctively snapping the Shiori's neck.

_At least…not in front of Mika_. He'd done enough violence in front of her.

"Since we're talking plainly, I should you remind you that you're _not_ in Berlin," Shiori told Raizo with equal honesty. "You're no longer a 'favored son'. You are not here as a 'guest', and _no one_ in this house will be dying for you _or_ by your hand. Kameyo-sama made it _very_ clear that if you start any of your antics here, your life is forfeit—_comprends-tu?_"

Raizo didn't flinch, and his words came out dangerously low. "Stay away from Mika," he warned, never taking his eyes away from hers.

"Why?" Shiori scoffed gaily. "_You_ obviously can't." She leaned into whisper very lightly, so Mika couldn't hear, "I can smell her on your breath. Is she as sweet as she smells?"

"_Get out_."

Shiori laughed loudly, practically skipping from Mika's room and sliding the door shut behind her. Raizo immediately set about to do damage control; it was important Mika understood exactly what she was dealing with.

"She likes you," he blurted without thinking, before mentally kicking himself. _That's not_…quite…_how I wanted to start this…_.

"So?" Mika asked defiantly, rising to her feet. "I don't feel like getting stabbed in the chest again, Raizo, so she can like me all she wants. They all can like me. You'd do well to make them like you too, you know."

"No, Mika," he shook his head, coming forward slowly. "I mean, she…_likes_ you."

Mika blinked, taking a second to understand. "Ohhhhhhh," she nodded. She shook her head as if to clear it. "I still don't see the problem. Her affection still works to my advantage."

Raizo's eyebrow shot up. "You sound like a ninja," he observed, and there was a hint of alarm in his voice.

"I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult," Mika replied.

"Neither do I," he said truthfully. "This is not what I wanted for you. I wanted to wait until things were more…normal…for us."

***

_Oh_, Mika mentally snorted. _So_ now _he wants to talk about that_. _Why? Because he thinks someone else is interested?_

She couldn't deny that the notion of his jealousy gave her a powerful surge of pleasure.

"Mika," he began gingerly but seriously, "the Murasaki are extremely charming, sophisticated and beautiful…but _they are killers_, Mika, which is precisely why they work so hard to develop those traits. So when Shiori laughs with you and tells you stories—"

"She's simply earning my trust?" Mika finished for him. "Making me more comfortable? Trying to get me in bed by wooing me first? Gee…'cause that _such_ a _terrible_ way to initiate—"

"I didn't _mean_ for it to happen like that!" Raizo interrupted her urgently, grabbing both of her arms and holding them lightly. "Like I said, I wanted to wait. I thought things could be normal for us. Yesterday, I went to see Maslow. I went to promise him you'd be safe with me, but now…now we are _here,_ dealing with _this_…and it's all my fault."

Mika sighed wearily, shaking her head. "To hear Shiori talk, this really isn't your fault. Clan wars come and go; all they need is an excuse to start. If it hadn't been you, it would've been something else."

"This is different," Raizo shook his head. "I wish it wasn't but it is. This is bigger, even bigger than I thought. Lady Kameyo arrives tomorrow and I grow more and more…concerned. She's diffused conflicts before, but this one may be too great for her." He got that faraway look again, as though he remembering something painful; it caused his brow to furrow ominously before he returned to the here and now.

"In the meantime, Mika, watch yourself," he cautioned lowly. "No matter how pleasant they are, no matter how sweetly they smile, _do __**not**__ trust them_."

He was leaning forward, as if to kiss her, when Noriko entered suddenly, and Mika knew it was time for Raizo to go. She didn't like how far apart they were being kept; it smelled too much like divide and conquer. But they were outnumbered and in no position to object.

That night, Mika lay awake on her cool futon, pondering the faded images spread across her walls. Who had slept in this room before her? Was she too a soldier dead and gone?

* * *

Shiori arrived at dawn, swathed in a sheer white cloth. She woke Mika with a firm shake. "_Viens_," she greeted Mika, "it's time for the morning bath."

The bathhouse was located in the west wing of the first floor of Hotel Red Sand. There were no partitions and no shower heads, just tub after wooden tub of steaming water. Dozens of Murasaki ninja filed through, ranging from their late teens to mid-thirties, it seemed. They stripped down without hesitance, and to Mika's surprise, even chatted with each other.

"Get undressed," Shiori ordered, and Mika raised an eyebrow. What was with ninja always trying to get her to strip?

Wearily, she complied, noticing how openly Shiori appreciated her naked form. It was on the tip of her tongue to let the ninja know she'd spent her junior year in college as a payback lesbian, only to find the whole thing simply wasn't for her. But then…Mika reconsidered.

She sank into a tub, gratefully immersing herself in the hot water. Shiori shed her white cloth and joined her, talking all the while.

"Our meals are simple," she explained. "I hope you know how to use chopsticks. While I am at practice, Kiyomi will be your guide. She's that pretty blind one over there." She gestured to a girl no more than fifteen or so being helped into her tub. The child was very lovely, with a purely innocent face. "She was born blind," Shiori explained, "which meant she could never be an assassin, of course. However, Kiyomi has an impeccable memory and has committed herself to memorizing and recording Murasaki history."

"And Raizo? Where will he be?"

"Raizo will be at practice with us," Shiori blinked, as though it were obvious. "There is much we can him teach, and vice versa." She snorted, lightly sponging her arms. "_Alors_, it will keep him alive. For a while, anyway.

"One of our sisters did not come home this morning," Shiori went on, as the old crone from the day before hobbled about, passing out strange green leaves with which the women scrubbed themselves. Mika reasoned it had to do with eliminating scents.

_What does it do for cellulite?_

"You can have her clothes," Shiori announced simply. "And before you say no, remember that we cannot have you greeting Lady Kameyo in _jeans_ and a _T-shirt_, Mika. Mika," she laughed suddenly. "Do you know what your name means in our language? It means 'beautiful fragrance.'" She laughed again. "Beautiful fragrance…like pineapple."

Mika had no clue what to say to that, so she just let Shiori ramble on.

"Three meals a day are served, Mika, and only three. You may not want to miss any of them. You might find them quite bland, but Raizo will no doubt think they are gourmet. The Ozunu never did feed their children well, you know."

"You seemed know a lot about the way of the Ozunu," Mika remarked.

"More than the sword," Shiori shrugged, "more than blending into shadow…_knowledge_ is true power, Mika."

"I see."

"Not yet," Shiori chuckled. "But you will."

* * *

The clothes delivered to her room were simple but highly flattering. She was given, for starters, a plain white linen backless dress which tied around her neck and flowed breezily about her body. She tried not to think about its unfortunate previous owner, but couldn't help but wonder what her name had been.

The library was in the north wing of the hotel where Raizo was staying; she knew that by the time she got to go there, he would already be gone. Even now he was probably bathing alone in a giant wooden tub somewhere. Her body warmed to think him of naked and soaking alone somewhere, his body surrounded by delicate tufts of steam.

There was a large room on the first floor for meals. Lit with candles, its floor was covered in mats, and it has a single, very long table around which the Murasaki knelt, eating noodles and vegetables from wooden bowls. A young girl served boiled meat, but it looked rather plain, so Mika abstained.

Raizo was late; he came in wearing only black cotton pants, his long hair still wet and dripping tantalizing droplets upon shoulders; they cruelly slid down his sculpted shoulders and chest. Mika tried not to stare; however, she noticed some of the other women smirking at one another knowingly.

_How long has it been since these bitches got some? And did any of_ them _ever sleep with him? I think he would at least mention that!_

Mika immediately pushed that thought far from her mind, trying to focus on her meal. The vegetables weren't cooked all the way, so they were still crisp and nutritious. The clear soup was hot, filling, and tangy; it went well with the noodles. The tea was flavorful, slightly bitter but in a good way. She longed for chilled pineapple juice, but knew better than to hold her breath.

After the meal, Shiori escorted Mika back to her room where she was instructed to wait for Kiyomi. Shiori was gone not five minutes before Raizo showed up. He lingered by the door for some reason, with an oddly discomfited look.

"I have been…invited to practice with them," he told her uneasily. "When you see me at lunch, I may look a bit bloody."

"I've seen you half-dead, remember?" she reminded him softly. She sighed and came over to him. She meant to reach out and reassuringly pat his shoulder but instead she wound up pinned to the wall.

It took her a full second to realize Raizo was kissing her deeply, thoroughly exploring her mouth with his tongue while his hands roamed over her body.

"Mika," he murmured, sounding defeated, "Mika…what are you wearing?"

She tried to reply but he didn't break the next kiss for several long moments; by the time he lowered his searing mouth to her neck and clavicle, Mika'd already forgotten what she was going to say. Her fingers sank into his damp hair as she passionately kissed him back, feeling him grow hard against her.

"Mika…."

He slid her dress up, reaching underneath and stripping away her panties without hesitation.

_Morning wood_, she reasoned fleetingly. _Turns even the sanest men into morons_.

She wanted to object, to let him know Kiyomi was coming to find her, but as always, Raizo was several steps ahead. Already his black pants where pushed down to mid-thigh, while he impatiently hoisted her legs around his waist and quickly took her against the wall before she could talk some sense into him.

"_Mika_…."

He _really_ needed to stop saying her name. Combined with his slow, steady movements, and the muscles tensing delectably in his neck and shoulders, he was making her lose her wits, her awareness of their surroundings which, last she checked, they weren't supposed to do.

"…can't…dress…like that…," he rasped between kisses, never breaking rhythm (indeed, he sped it up instead). "…dress…hides…_nothing_…too…sheer…so _sheer_, Mika…."

_Damn you, Shiori!_

Mika clutched his shoulders tightly, linking her ankles behind his waist and eagerly moving with him, suddenly not caring if they were walked in on or not. In fact, the chance of being caught only made it all the more exciting; after all, the Murasaki were doing their darndest to keep them apart and it was infuriating.

While his left arm remained wrapped around her hips, Raizo's right hand found its way to her breasts, squeezing and massaging beneath her white dress, driving her to move her hips faster. He was so slick…even as he filled her again and again he was deliciously slick and—

"Mika-san?" a young voice called from the other side of her door. "Mika-san, are you in?"

Raizo's hand immediately flew from Mika's breasts to cover her mouth. He pulled her away from the wall and looked directly into her eyes, daring her to make a sound.

"Shiori sent me," Kiyomi went on, her accent heavily—and surprisingly—British. "I'm supposed to show you the library."

Mika wanted to tell the poor girl she was being savagely pounded into at the moment and would have to reschedule; Raizo was clearly excited by this little twist in events. Biting his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning aloud, he kept his hand over her mouth and deviously maintained strict, unflinching eye contact with her.

_Oh, my! I never would've guessed he was_ this _big of a perv!_

To be honest…it was _hot_.

"I guess you've already gone on without me," Kiyomi sighed. Her footsteps soon faded down the hall.

A white hot explosion ripped through them both. Their already sweaty bodies tensed; she clenched tightly as he emptied himself. It took them a long while to slow their breathing and heart rates, but when they finally did, Raizo gently set her down and pulled his pants back up.

"I'm liking this more and more," he murmured, eyes twinkling as he leaned in for a deep, slow kiss which flushed them both with warmth. "It'll be a challenge to keep this up with all the interruptions."

Mika giggled like a drunken schoolgirl. "You think we'll get in trouble?"

Raizo kissed her again before musing, "It'll be worth it."

When he slid her door open, they were both shocked to find a terse young Kiyomi standing right on the other side, arms folded primly across her chest.

"Raizo-san," the girl asked crisply, "are you not supposed to be at practice?"

His mouth fell open, and attempted to speak. "I—"

"You thought I'd walked away," Kiyomi snorted, "when it's the oldest trick in the book. Don't think because I'm blind I'm stupid. Even someone who's deaf in one ear could hear what was going on in there. Bodies tend to make a lot of noise, you know." She cocked her head to one side, eyes eerily unblinking. "With my hearing, I could hear you _coming_ a mile away."

"Kiyomi-cha—"

"Don't even bother condescending to me, mate," the girl chortled. "Murasaki bear their own, remember? You _do_ realize that requires at least two people, don't you? I hate to break it to you, 'bad boy', but there's a _lot_ of fucking that goes on this hotel, and I've heard _much_ nastier, thank you very much. Now, get on to practice before you're late and Noriko orders fifty lashes of the razor whip."

Raizo mutely slipped by the Kiyomi and hastily took off.

"Now, Mika-san," the child-woman scathingly continued, stepping into the room and causing Mika to take a step back, "I should probably make it clear right away that I _don't_ appreciate being ignored. I spent the first ten years of my life being ignored in this hellhole and I'm _never_ going back to that. So the next time I'm sent to babysit you, you better answer your door the first time I call. Because if you don't, I will tell Lady Kameyo herself that _you two_ think it's appropriate to indulgently play 'honeymoon' during a _clan war_.

"Now…step lightly," she said firmly, turning and heading out the door. "The library's this way."


	5. Chapter 5

_I am soooooo sorry about keeping you all waiting. So, so, so, so, so sorry!!!! (By the way, for any of you ladies looking for additional inspiration when writing NA flick, I recommend renting "Geisha Assassin" from Netflix)._

_And is anyone else tempted to write "Rain" instead of "Raizo" sometimes?_

_Anyway, without further ado…._

_

* * *

_**Wisdom over Warfare**

This was the third time Raizo found himself on his back.

Noriko stood above him calmly, her face neutral, her breathing even, and her face annoyingly free of sweat. Raizo, on the other hand, felt his whole body perspiring; his wife-beater was soaked through, and he couldn't help but wonder how the Murasaki ninja had taken him out so easily…_thrice_.

"You have strength and speed, Raizo-san," she coolly shook her head, as though reading his thoughts. "But your mentality is flawed. When you go for the death blow so eagerly, your opponent only resists that much more." Gracefully, she circled him, looking down at his sweaty form. "The key is to neutralize your target first, and quickly so, _without_ killing them. Death comes later…painless, and without knowing."

Raizo's mind suddenly flashed back to one of the first attempts on his life in Berlin.

_Hi…excuse me. If it's not too much trouble…could you help me with this? _

The Murasaki ninja at the Laundromat had tried to "talk" to him. She'd smiled sweetly, beguilingly at him. He'd fleetingly wondered why she even bothered. Ninja did not "chat" with targets; they simply eliminated them.

"I don't understand," Raizo finally admitted, and blinked at how breathless he already was. A round of feminine snickers rippled through the room; he didn't bother looking at the kneeling ninja to his right; Shiori no doubt had taken a front row seat for his humiliation.

"Are we killers?" Noriko mused. "Yes. But as Takako-sama teaches us, 'a killer can be as humane as a monk tending to a wounded traveler.'" She chuckled softly, going to the weapons rack and casually choosing a polished black naginata. "The Ozunu frighten their targets with letters of black sand. They emerge from the shadows and let their targets see them coming—this too cruel, Raizo-san. It is better to let a target go peacefully…in their sleep, even."

"And do you think killing them kindly will save you from hell?" Raizo chuckled, slowly rising to his feet. "You think technique can change what we _really_ are?" He laughed harsh, bitter laughter, his head rolling back and his hair dripping sweat. "Is that what the Murasaki tells itself? It makes sense. Every clan has its lies; the Ozunu called itself 'family'; Lord Ozunu himself often called our training 'gifts'. As though this life could be a _gift_ to any child."

Noriko clearly didn't like what he was saying, even as she struggled to hang onto her signature calm. And Raizo could feel the Murasaki stiffening, as though he'd just uttered some horrific form of blasphemy.

Raizo smirked sadistically, pushing their buttons a little further.

"So," he snickered, "what lies did your _proud_ Murasaki mother tell _you_…Noriko-san?"

***

Mika Coretti, despite herself, was steadily falling in love with the Murasaki.

The library had computers only, a series of flat-screened black Dells which archived five centuries worth of diaries and letters. The walls were painted with murals, like her room was. They were also faded, but they were still beautiful. They were showed women, beautiful women dressed in gorgeous, brilliantly colorful robes and carrying blood-tipped daggers and fans.

"Who are these women?" Mika asked, breathless with awe and she circled the room in a daze, the well-worn tatami mats soft beneath her feet.

"These were Murasaki who poised as _oiran_ or geisha to eliminate their targets," Kiyomi explained off-handedly, using a Braille keyboard to rapidly access the Murasaki records. A feminine, albeit computerized, voice responded to her input.

"In the old days," the blind teenager explained, "Murasaki studied with geisha and _oiran_ to learn their abilities of appearing charming, irresistible, and most importantly, _harmless_. We did not always dress in black and haunt the night, you know."

"I see," Mika murmured, already in another world. "How many such Murasaki were there?"

"Three hundred and forty-seven," Kiyomi recited crispy. "Murasaki Rin was the deadliest. She logged over a thousand kills by the end of the 18th Century. Such was her killing that the clan poets wrote, 'For the grim sound of a samurai's rolling head doth Mistress Rin live.' Of course…before she was a Murasaki, Rin was Ozunu."

Mika's head snapped towards Kiyomi. "She was Ozunu?"

Kiyomi nodded. "She was in love with a fellow ninja named Katsuro. That, as you know, was strictly forbidden by the Ozunu. Rin was the superior warrior, so they decided she'd get to live. When they were only fourteen years old, the Ozunu clan lord sent Katsuro to kill a samurai, long before the boy was even ready. Needless to say, the samurai sent young Katsuro's body floating down the Shinano-gawa."

Mika frown slightly. "So…Rin switched sides? Is it really _that_ easy?"

Kiyomi shook her head, confirming Mika's suspicions. "It's never that simple. The Ozunu weren't happy with her inevitable outrage and sought to cut out her heart as punishment, but as usual, Murasaki wisdom prevailed."

"Your history is most fascinating," Mika sighed blissfully, closing her eyes and leaning against a mural.

"You're logged in to workstation seven," Kiyomi told her. "Your password is _ichiban_. Read all the 'fascinating' history you like."

Lunchtime arrived around noon. Sweaty and numb, the Murasaki warriors filed in for their afternoon meal. Raizo came last, moving stiffly and trying not to flinch. He was the sweatiest and bloodiest one there. Only when he dropped to his knees by her at the table did she notice the horrific oozing lashes across his back.

_"What the fuck?"_

The words flew from Mika's mouth before she could even think. The split second after they emerged, she half-expected to be carted off to the whipping post herself…best case scenario, of course.

Instead, Noriko spoke up with her usual, dignified cool. "Raizo questioned the purpose and humanity of this clan," she answered simply. "Guest or not, such blasphemy will not be tolerated. Above all, Murasaki prize family. For centuries we have tried to build strong, long-lasting bloodlines." Her eyes narrowed slightly on Raizo. "We will not have our legacy debased by an Ozunu sadist."

"Be that as it may, you're _still_ killers," Mika snapped, even as her mind advised her to do otherwise. _Woman…what are you doing? You better shut the fuck up while your mouth is still in tact, bitch!_ "Call it whatever you want…at the end of the day, you're still murderers."

Shiori chortled, "Oh, please. One person's murderer is another person's problem-solver, Mika."

"And against many odds we have maintained an exceptional legacy," Noriko reiterated.

"Oh, I've read all about your _legacy_," Mika snorted, filled with a bravado she could best describe as insane. "I spent the whole morning reading about your _legacy_. I pored over volumes filled with…with samurai heads rolling across tatami mats—" and here Shiori and several other Murasaki burst into snickers, even as Mika furiously went on, "—blood spattering the walls of teahouses, and ninja posing as geisha or _oiran_, while hiding sheathed daggers in their _vaginas_ just so they could pass friggin' weapons checks!"

Raizo's head snapped her away as he blinked in disbelief. "_What?!??_" he exclaimed. He turned bewildered—and slightly accusing—eyes onto Noriko. "The Murasaki said that was just a _myth!_"

"We have no shame in our work," Noriko replied coldly, ignoring Raizo. "A true warrior knows no shame."

Mika was suddenly on her feet, shouting at Noriko without thinking. "A true warrior fights out in the open!" she yelled. "Against an equally matched opponent!" She felt Raizo twitch next to her and ignored it—for now. She had read way too many disturbing things this morning and she had a few things to say—to someone…_anyone_— about this madness called "ninjitsu."

"This taking of life—for _money_, of all things—is _not_ honorable," Mika spat, and with far more venom she ever knew she had. Her eyes seem to fire dark bolts of pure rage. She didn't miss how the eyes of the Murasaki widened as she stood and went off like a woman possessed. "The power over life and death belongs only to the gods. _Ninja_ are not _gods_. No…you're just a bunch of dark alley _blades_ for hire! Your _clans_ are no different from big city gangs filled common street thugs! Come on, Raizo!" She grabbed Raizo's arm and jerked him forcefully to his feet, eliciting a tiny yelp from him. She dragged him from the dining room, out the door, through the main hall where all the red fountains stood (whose water she now understood was reddened with actual human blood…in keeping with an "old tradition"), and upstairs to her room.

*

Meanwhile, Raizo was turned on as hell.

The lashes of the whip burned and oozed, but he'd suffered far worse before. He was "spoiled" now. A life without daily abuse was still unfamiliar to him, even after all these years. And after seeing Mika stand up to over a dozen seasoned ninjas, he barely felt the lashes at all.

She knelt at her futon, carelessly ripping up one of the dresses Shiori had brought her, no doubt to bind his wounds (which were already slowly healing anyway…but she was about to put her hand him and there was no way Raizo was discouraging _that_). Willingly he lay down on the futon on his stomach, folding his arms beneath his head and closing his eyes.

"They had no right," Mika grumbled angrily. She lightly placed strips of cloth against his bleeding flesh; her gentle touch warmed him. He felt himself grow hard against the mat. "What about the no-harm clause they touted when we first got here?"

"Lady Kameyo made it clear that if I step out of line I'm to be 'corrected', remember?" Raizo snorted softly, his eyes still closed. "Shiori was clearly overjoyed to apply the whip; it was like a great honor for her. In many ways, she reminds me of this 'older brother' I had within the clan. Takeshi was his name; he was my greatest rival. Because Ozunu had the rule of failure being sewn into the flesh—hence my scars," Raizo absently gestured, eyes still dreamily closed, "—Takeshi loathed losing a match…least of all to me. When I bested him while _blindfolded_ one time," Raizo snickered, "it was as though I'd cut off his balls and handed them Lord Ozunu."

Raizo laughed freely for a moment, as she rarely heard him do. It was rich, deep, rumbling yet musical laughter; he had a singer's voice. It went well with his dancer's body….

*

_I'm touching him_, Mika panicked suddenly. _He's shirtless and sweaty and we're alone and I'm touching him. What if…stuff starts happening again? What if Noriko walks in and tells me it's my turn at the whipping post?!??_

"Takeshi was such an ass-kissing apple-polisher," Raizo mumbled with bitterness so sudden, Mika wondered if she'd missed something he'd said. "No wonder he took such pleasure in executing Kiriko in front of me."

He stiffened as soon as the feminine name came out of his mouth; even Mika paused, hands in mid-air as she fleetingly wondered, _Why am I still bandaging him? He's practically healed already_.

_And while we're on the subject…who the hell was Kiriko?_

Raizo rolled over suddenly, smiling sweetly and murmuring, "Mika, Mika…why'd you stop touch—"

"Kiriko?" she demanded, her voice dangerously soft and light, like a sweet summer breeze, heralding a violent thunderstorm. The part of her brain which connected to her mouth was slowly shutting off again, much like it had down in the dining hall.

Raizo opened his mouth but he was dealing with a jealous woman now, and no gentle explanations were going to save him.

"Mika—"

Mika practically lunged forward, planting her open mouth on his, kissing him angrily.

_I left my job for him_.

Raizo was dazed at first, but then caught himself and starting kissing her back. He let her head, let her take whatever it was she wanted or needed—_anything_ to keep from having "the conversation."

He didn't have to rip the dress from her sleek, dark body; he wanted to but at the rate they were going she'd run out of clothes. Besides, she was sliding out of the dress on her own, untying the straps around her neck and letting it fall, baring her splendid round breasts.

_I left my life for him_.

Raizo watched her step from the fallen white cloth, before she came to plant a knee on either side of him. With a flash of purposeful, wicked defiance in her eyes, Mika leaned in towards his navel, dragging her tongue slowly and cruelly up his chest, sopping up blood and sweat without flinching.

_I almost died for him_.

His mouth hung open as she worked her mouth over his bruises and scars, causing blood to pool even faster in his groin, until his breath was coming fast and he was unsure how much longer he could just lie there while a naked woman _licked_ him.

"Mika—"

"_Shhh!_" she silenced him harshly, slipping her fingers into his waistband and firmly pushing down. She kissed her way down—wetly, teasingly—to where he strained towards her, throbbing and pulsating.

"_Mika—_"

She pounced without hesitating, taking him into her mouth and hands, working him relentless and deliberately, her mind focused on a single notion as she stroked, tugged, and orally caressed until Raizo was lying back, head rolling to side to side as he gave in.

_I don't know who all came before me, but as far I'm concerned_ now, _he_ _belongs to me_.

"Oh, Mika…_Mika_…Mika, Mika, _Mika_…."

He made the mistake of glimpsing down at her, to see her head vigorously moving as her mouth pleasured him in an almost brutal manner. The afternoon light caught the glint of copper in her cornrows, that ridiculously efficient hairstyle of hers which he knew more Murasaki were going to adopt once they mastered the technique. Mika's hands slickly worked him, her mouth diligently worked him…circling, laving, sucking and stroking until his eyes simply rolled into the back of his head.

When he finally exploded, Raizo lost sight and hearing, fading into the warm black, forgetting who and where he was.

Mika wordlessly watched him collapse into weariness, recalling words she'd only read hours earlier.

_I am who am named Midori by my Murasaki kin do write these words devout…I follow the will of Takako without question, and will choose crossing minds over crossing blades in the name of war. I will build walls rather than brave battlefields, for in so doing, I shall ever protect what is mine._

_And that which is mine shall be touched by none else._

Mika pulled his pants off fully, while he was still too dazed and euphoric to protest. She wasn't finished with him.

Not by a long shot.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Tortoise Woman**

"Mika…," Raizo gasped, "Mika we have to stop…."

But Mika Coretti was a woman possessed, intent on keeping all she had left. She didn't know where this insanity was coming from, but she was beginning to understand what rendered Raizo incapable of keeping his hands off her. She now understood why he couldn't keep himself from rolling over and stripping her naked back at the hotel.

She'd always wanted to kiss his scars. Not in some vain hope that they'd magically heal, or that she could kiss away years torment and abuse, but simply because they were _hot_. Raizo was covered in them, but still…they could not mar the beauty of his golden flesh. Somewhere jagged, the haphazard results of fight after fight after fight. Others were clean, deliberate, almost surgical, like painful reminders of what never to do again.

Mika kissed them all.

With searing tongue and warm, wet full lips she orally caressed each one beneath the thin layers of blood and sweat. Despite the tart and salt, Raizo still tasted sweet to her, confirming the old adage about the blinding effects of love.

_Whoa_.

Though the revelation hit her like a tidal and wave, she did not stop in her kisses, pressing her warm naked brown body against his and making him groan aloud.

Love made sense. It mimicked the symptoms of insanity—and that made _perfect_ sense. Of _course_ she loved Raizo. It didn't matter how or why or when she first started to, it just mattered that she did now. That girl from his past, whoever she was…was dead. His whole clan of brothers and sisters, and even his dark mentor, them too—all dead.

Mika was all Raizo had in the world. She was the only one he had trusted, and now he loved her as well.

By the way he reached for her, capturing her mouth in a deep, unbridled kiss, and by the way he held her so close, squeezing so tightly it almost hurt…she knew. She _knew_ he loved her back.

It was the headiest, most electrifying feeling in the world. She had to have him at once.

He didn't try to roll her onto her back; there would be time for that later. None of the Murasaki had come to her door. No one had summoned them. Mika's outburst at lunch had, for some unfathomable reason, bought them time to themselves.

She rode him slowly this time, savoring the feel of him, the warmth of this hands covering and massaging her breasts, and the breathless gasps of her name escaping his lips every other second. What was it Shiori had said her name meant in Japanese? "Beautiful fragrance"?

Mika bit her bottom lip in a tiny smirk. Is that why he loved to say her name? It was as though he couldn't say it enough.

"_Mika…Mika…._"

It was intoxicating to see him writhe helplessly beneath her, reaching for her, touching her and looking at her without bothering to hide anything from her.

At least…not in this.

_Someday….someday he will have to tell me more about his life with the Ozunu_, she thought fleetingly.

His hips were jerking instinctively now, uncontrollably as his head rolled back, and his damp black hair slid away from his beautiful face.

Mika moved faster, pumping her hips more determinedly and deliberately, watching—as best she could—his every reaction to her. Watching the muscles tense in his neck and face as he finally erupted was enough to make her whole body clench and shiver in response. Mika shook violently as she climaxed, before finally falling down next to him.

"Mika," he murmured once more, sleepily. He rolled over to pull her into his arms as they slowly fell asleep.

***

They made love off and on throughout the day. They took each other in varying positions, sometimes hard and fast, other times slowly and thoughtfully. They did not speak; they did not converse and dissect what was happening between them. They simply pleasured each other, until around dusk when they were summoned via maid.

"Kameyo-sama has arrived," the child called through the door. "Dinner will be served in one hour."

At the name "Kameyo", reality hit the lovers like a bolt of lightning.

The head of the Murasaki Clan had arrived, and the fate of Raizo's life rested in her hands.

"We must bathe," Raizo said quickly, rising to his feet and pulling on his black jockeys and pants. "And we must dress presentably for Lady Kameyo."

Mika yawned, despite her growing anxiety. "I'm sure whoever owned these clothes before me will have something suitable." She slowly stood up, pleasantly sore and sweaty in all the right places. She flashed him a wicked grin. "I'll race you to the bathhouse."

Despite objection from his lower half, Raizo shook his head. "We bathe separately. If I see you…." He trailed off, looking away and actually blushing, unable to finish his sentence. He suddenly had a flash of her standing in the bathhouse, naked and dripping wet. It was almost too much for him, even after their marathon.

He left her to go to the bathhouse designated for him. In reality it was simply a shower stall in a distant corner of Hotel Red Sand. It only produced cold water, which was fine by him. A maid had laid out clothing on his futon and he immediately knew they were to be worn for dinner with Lady Kameyo. It was a black silk kimono, worked over in silver embroidery, with a pale gray obi. Though it looked simple, he could tell it was very fine. He paused to wonder how he'd garnered such special treatment from the Murasaki leader.

A very old and well-dressed attendant returned to make sure he looked appropriate. She gave him the once over, nodded briefly, and wordlessly led him out through fading scarlet halls. By the way she moved and by the way her footfalls made no sound, he could tell she was once a ninja.

Raizo blinked, his mind whirling with questions. What was her name? Had she slain many targets? Had she borne many children? Had she outlived any of her children and if so…did she regret raising them in a ninja clan?

Were the Murasaki who bore children even given a choice?

Apparently, Lady Kameyo dined in a smaller, more private room, and that didn't surprise Raizo at all. He also wasn't surprised the walls of her dining room were much thicker than other rooms of Hotel Red Sand. This room was done more in the Chinese style, with tall, ornately carved bamboo stools around a polished, black, square-shaped table. Though no food was served yet, torturous aromas wafted in from the shadowy doorways, along with the faint clanging of pots and pans.

Raizo suddenly remembered they'd missed lunch.

Only Mika was in the room; she was wearing a backless, scarlet linen dress which tied around her neck. The dress was the color of blood, so rich and vibrant it brown out the regal darkness in her skin even more. It was also empire-waisted, and the waistline was embroidered heavily and intricately in gold. The gold matched the dangling, triangular earrings she'd gotten from somewhere. Raizo, taking in her elegant, Old World-look, noticed the tiny gold cuffs adorning her cornrows. He figured they'd come from the same place as the earrings.

"You look like a princess," he smiled finally. "Red is your color."

Mika looked up at him, startled at first, then smiling. "You look like a prince," she chuckled, taking in his shimmering kimono. It matched his silken black hair, now grown past his shoulders. The dark of the silken robe beautifully heightened the gold in his skin. "Black is definitely your color," she nodded slightly.

"Prince and princess," Raizo mused, taking a seat opposite her. "These Murasaki live in style, even in a mere safehouse. One must wonder what their headquarters look like."

"They look pretty much like this, Raizo-san," came a husky voice from the door. Mika and Raizo looked to see an old, elegant woman with an unreadable face and an extravagant kimono of scarlet, jade and golden shades. She wore her graying hair in a thick chignon adorned with pearls. An elaborate fan dangled from a fine gold chain around her right wrist. Behind her stood a fully dressed, full-armed Murasaki ninja who followed her into the room as she took her seat.

Raizo and Mika were already standing and instinctively bowing as the queenly Lady Kameyo swept past them. When she sat, her ninja attendant melded seamlessly into the shadows behind her.

"Be seated," Lady Kameyo sighed almost wearily. Mika and Raizo wordlessly obeyed. At once, tea was served by three young maids; it was a dark, rich black tea with a heady aroma. The couple waited patiently for the Murasaki clan leader to sip first before they did.

"You have been treated well?" Lady Kameyo asked. "Both of you?"

"_Hai_, Kameyo-sama," Raizo bowed his head. "Noriko-san has been a most gracious hostess."

Lady Kameyo snorted. "I heard she tied you up and whipped you for blasphemy."

Raizo bowed his head again. "My punishment was well earned, my Lady." He was deeply grateful that Mika didn't object.

"Such humility," the old woman mused, "from the mouth of an Ozunu, no less. And here, I thought I had seen it all." She sipped her tea leisurely. "I do not like meat, so tonight they will be serving spinach and tofu instead. Do you like spinach, Miss Coretti?"

"Yes, my lady," Mika replied immediately, taking her cue from Raizo and bowing her head when she spoke. She also made sure not to look Lady Kameyo in the eyes.

"Murasaki treasure all arts," the old woman sighed, "from cooking to embroidery to dance. 'Tis the wisdom of Takako that a woman should master all arts: 'A well-fed army is more focused, a well-dressed woman is more confident, and a skilled dancer can easily master the arts of war.' Do you not agree, Raizo-san?"

"_Hai_, Kameyo-sama."

"I have traveled and met with the lords and ladies of the other Seven Clans," Lady Kameyo said with sudden seriousness. "You are officially the last of the Ozunu, Raizo-san. All others have been done away with, and now the clans fight for title of the Elder Clan. We Murasaki, of course, do not qualify; we were one of the last clans to join the Nine. We do not begrudge this exception; it has allowed us chance to stand back and observe the chaos with clarity.

"I, for one, was not surprised to see so many clan members were glad at the death of the Ozunu; Lord Ozunu was pompous and selfish, so naturally he acquired many enemies during his rule. I argued there was no more need for bloodshed, Raizo-san, but they did not agree. They want _all_ Ozunu dead…even the one who brought about the end of the clan."

Again, Raizo was immeasurably grateful that Mika held her tongue. He didn't miss how her hand tightened on her teacup, though.

"So," Lady Kameyo sighed, "I proposed we invoke _Ryo-ko_, the 'Ritual of Two Tigers'. The clan leaders accepted."

Mika blinked at the unfamiliar term. "M-My Lady?"

"It's like a tournament, Mika," Raizo explained, keeping his voice as a light as possible. "The great Takako devised a tournament to solve disputes between clans in order to end wars. Each clan would send their very best to fight one on one." He turned back to Lady Kameyo, trying to mask his excitement. "I am eternally grateful to Kameyo-sama; the Tortoise Woman is truly ever wise."

"There is a condition you should know of," Lady Kameyo-raised an eyebrow, her lips betraying only the slightest of smirks. "You will not be fighting for Ozunu honor, of course. They are gone and over. You will be fighting as a Murasaki. If you are victorious seven times, the Murasaki Clan will take its place as the Elder Clan. Under our rule, the Nine will _never_ know clan war again."

Mika was clearly shocked. She forgot her propriety when she spoke. "And the other leaders…they agreed to this?"

Lady Kameyo shrugged dismissively, taking no offense. "They are convinced Raizo will be defeated in the first round."

"When am I to begin?" Raizo asked grimly.

"Seven days from today, as is the custom," Lady Kameyo replied. "The other leaders and I have chosen various secret places around the world for you to fight uninterrupted. As you are now fighting for my clan, you will obey my orders, Raizo-san. The first order is that you practice all day, every day. The second is you abstain from making love to this one," she nodded to Mika, "and conserve your energy."

The couple looked at their cups, prompting Kameyo to snicker. Steaming dishes arrived on porcelain platters, and the old woman's snickering turned to full-on laughter. Her whole face was brightly lit, and her body shook with rippling peals of joy.

"Come, come—we eat!" she waved. "And after dinner, the young ones will dance for us, Mika—even now they are getting dressed for their Lady. 'Tis a night to _celebrate_, my children, for the Murasaki have already triumphed!"

***

After a rather sumptuous banquet (in which Lady Kameyo seemed to drink her weight in sake), Mika and Raizo followed Lady Kameyo into a Japanese-style sitting room lit with burning lanterns, where the red walls had been freshly painted, the floors were wooden, and Lady Kameyo was seated on a dais like a ruler of old. Mika and Raizo knelt on either side of her on soft mats, while two rows of young female filed in on either side of the room. One row took their seats and set up their instruments, while the other row knelt, lightly clearing their voices. They were musicians were all primly dressed in black kimonos, while the chorus was dressed in white kimonos. They respectfully kept from looking directly at their leader.

"All my girls," Kameyo leaned towards Mika, "are trained in music from childhood. I myself have played the samisen now for _fifty_ years." She leaned back, chuckling gaily, her face flushed from drink.

When the musicians were done tuning, silence reigned in the hall. From the central doorway, three dancers dressed like geisha emerged: one in purple, one in green, and one in vermillion.

Mika gasped. Even Raizo's jaw hung open at the brilliant splendor of their robes.

"My own mother was a geisha," Kameyo nodded proudly, pleased byher guests' reactions. "The Murasaki hired her to train their students in music and dance. She also taught them how to dress—their kimonos? _Pure_ Tatsumura silk. And see the detail? From the white paint, to the red collars of the _maiko_, even to the infamous 'split peach' hairstyle. See how they move? So graceful, so proper. These are ninja, not geisha…yet not even a seasoned _geiko_ could tell the difference!" she laughed.

The music began. A single musician plucked a samisen string, another tapped her drum, and in seconds the rhythm was laid down. After a moment, the chorus joined in, keeping their voices remarkably soft, harmonizing flawlessly with their counterparts rather than overpowering them.

Indeed, the brightly-robed ninja had dancers' grace, but Mika also noted they also had warriors' precision. As they danced to the ethereal music, fluidly wielding their fans and flashing their practiced, picture-perfect smiles at their audience, their eyes betrayed no emotion, no one missed a single step, and they moved in flawless, _inhuman_ unison. Mika's immediately mind flashed back to the murals on the library walls of Murasaki ninja posing as geisha, their fans dripping in blood.

The music, the dusky orange light of lanterns, the burning incense, the sound of bloodied fountains flowing in the main hall, and the sweet taste of sake all transported Mika back in time to the teahouses of old. She could smell the body of an Ozunu teen wafting in from the riverside. She was suddenly _there_ when the infamous Mistress Rin sent samurai heads rolling, avenging her fallen love.

Mika looked upon the sweetly, smiling _maiko_-imposters before her, and for the first time, she was truly horrified. They weren't wolves in sheep's clothing…in fact, they weren't wolves at all.

With their white masks of makeup and blood-red lips, Mika suddenly realized what the old scrolls meant when they referred to ninja…as _demons_.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! Sorry these are taking so long – switching jobs and all that drama. I promise to try harder to keep 'em comin' faster. In the meantime, enjoy!_

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**Kichiro, the First Tiger**

_Seven days later, aboard the cruise ship_ Shikibu, _in the_ _Mediterranean Sea_

"_Arigato_, Mathangi," Kichiro nodded, accepting his second cup of tea. He had never liked tea, but when he met Mathangi a week earlier, she introduced him to a rich black tea grown in her homeland of Sri Lanka. He didn't know if it was the aroma, or the flavor, or the dark inviting beauty of the curvy woman serving it but…he just couldn't get enough.

Kichiro was a tall ninja, slender but solid, and unbearably handsome. He had classic Japanese good looks, and short, sleek black hair. His clan leader, Lord Fujin, favored him openly above all his other students. Kichiro was a flawless swordsman, having never lost a sparring match and never failed a mission. His skin was barely scarred, for in childhood Kichiro had never erred. It was as though he were born to be a ninja and nothing else.

Kichiro was allowed his own servants, his own home, and the privilege of taking a woman. However, no woman had ever caught his attention the way Mathangi did. For one, she was most assuredly not a ninja. She was not one of the many foreign-born orphans dragged into the clans. She was curvy instead of lithe, soft and smooth and unblemished. Even her tattoos were simply henna, curving and coiling about her arms, feet, lower back and stomach.

She wore her hair long, scented with sweet Moroccan oil and adorned with white flowers. As she knelt across from him in his dimly cabin, he let his nose fully inhale her scent—woman, oil, and flower.

"Should I brew some more?" she asked with that slow, sensuously sly smirk.

Kichiro shook his head. "This will be my last cup for the night. It relaxes me too much, and I intend to be fully alert when I kill that Ozunu riffraff tonight."

Mathangi laughed. It was so sweet and pure, unlike any laughter he'd ever heard from a fellow ninja.

"Very well, then," she nodded finally. "Shall I draw us a bath upon your triumph?"

Kichiro drilled his eyes onto her, saying very deliberately in rough, gravel tone, "There will be no bathing upon my return. I will be soaked in the sweat and blood of my victory, and when I return I will want only one thing: you naked and waiting for me on my bed."

Mathangi smiled broadly, bowing low. "If it pleases you, it will be done."

* * *

…_and of all the Nine, the Clan of Black Sand is indeed the most foul_.

How man times in the past seven days had Mika Coretti read that? Almost every historical scroll, book, and diary entry ended with someone denouncing the Ozunu. Normally, she wouldn't care, since they were all dead. Except they weren't. Their fiercest warrior was still alive, and up until seven days ago he'd been sharing her bed. Lady Kameyo had a put a stop to their coupling, and for now Mika was fine with that.

There was something Raizo carried within himself, something dark and twisted and it concerned her deeply. She knew the torture and abuse he'd endured as a student of ninjitsu. After seeing him battered and bloody at dinner every evening, she now _knew_ what had been done to him.

What she needed to know more about _now_, however, was what Raizo himself had done to others.

She had lived the past seven days like a pampered prisoner. Lady Kameyo's arrival—and her favor—had brought about several unexpected perks. For one, Mika was moved to a more comfortable room (with a raised bed, not a futon) and a personal bathroom. She still woke at dawn, but she now ate all her meals with Lady Kameyo, who allowed fresh pineapple to be purchased daily just for Mika and had meat dishes prepared for her at night. Raizo was back to eating with Noriko and the others; Kameyo was _determined_ to keep them apart.

She spent her mornings braiding the Murasaki women's hair like hers, rubbing into their scalps some sweet-smelling Moroccan oil Kameyo had brought with her from her last trip. She spent her afternoons reading Murasaki history, and it wasn't by choice. Lady Kameyo _loved_ to talk about Murasaki history and clan pride, and she apparently expected her listeners to know what the hell she was talking about. And though the old woman insisted she had no regrets of her mother letting the clan raise her, Mika couldn't help but notice that not since she'd been a girl spending her summers with her Aunt Caroline had she seen a woman drink _this_ much.

Night after night, after every dinner, various Murasaki girls were ordered to dance and show off their artistic training. They didn't always dress like geisha, and some even did traditional Chinese and Indian dances, complete with the appropriate outfits.

Shiori in particular shone. Flexible, strong, beautiful, there was no dance she couldn't master. Bellydancing, dancing with fans, dancing with ankle bells—it didn't matter. She was as fluid as water, with a genuinely sweet smile, and eyes which showed incredible emotion. It shocked Mika to the point of utter speechlessness that a ninja could be capable of such pure joy…which didn't involve killing.

In the meantime, Kameyo had a new trinket for Mika every day. She always had some necklace or bracelet or swathe of silk to give away; she taught Mika basic embroidery and some basic dance and martial uses for the fan. Mika was always given pretty dresses to wear to dinner, and much to her horror, she realized that Lady Kameyo was actually _fond_ of her, and was treating her like a coddled daughter.

Tonight she wore a dress Kameyo had specially delivered. Made from pure Tatsumura silk, it draped over one shoulder and left the other completely bare. And it was scarlet, scarlet as the walls of Hotel Red Sand. Her sandals were simple, but golden and expensive.

Around her bare arm was a solid gold torque inlaid with jade, and she wore a pearl and jade headdress over her coppery cornrows. She'd been sprayed head to toe with jasmine perfume and it was made very clear—albeit subtly—that attending the fight was mandatory.

They were brought to the cruise ship _Shikibu_ via fishing boat just before midnight. The broad and splendid deck was lit up with old-fashioned lanterns, and on opposite ends sat daises with single chairs. On the eastern end of the board, the gray silk banners of the Fujin Clan tossed on the warm night sea breeze as the boat drifted very slowly through moonlit waters. On the western end, the crimson banners of the Murasaki delicately flapped.

Mika raised an eyebrow at how each dais was surrounded by ninja guards. The two clans faced one another unflinchingly.

"Lord Fujin has set aside a cabin for us," Lady Kameyo grinned broadly, cheerfully taking her seat upon her dais as though she weren't about to witness a bloodbath. She'd dressed with opulence of an emperor's daughter. Her ruby-colored kimono was worth over $20,000, and her jewels—which had been brought out from the Murasaki vault—once belonged to a Korean queen. Legend had it the Ozunu ninja assigned to kill the queen had stripped the jewels from her very corpse and presented them to her lord.

"We won't be staying the night, of course," she chuckled. "The cabin is strictly for the ritual of 'Last Sip', where the two 'tigers' take their last sip of whatever with a loved one, before they meet." She smiled at Mika, and it chilled her. "Noriko-san, take Mika down to Raizo. Remind him what he's truly fighting for."

Mute, Mika and Noriko obeyed.

Raizo was alone in the dark cabin, tying the black sash of his red tunic in flickering candlelight. He was dressed plainly, simple black pants and no shoes. His long hair was tied back, away from his face, and he looked even more youthful and innocent than usual.

Mika felt her heart pound as Noriko closed the door behind her, leaving the couple alone.

* * *

He felt as though he hadn't seen her in ages. It was the pineapple which first alerted him to her presence; the scent preceded her…it was the sweetest fragrance he ever smelled. When he looked up, the vision completed the experience.

"Mika…." He trailed off. She looked away, suddenly shy and unable to meet his gaze.

"I'm supposed to share water with you," she mumbled like a nervous child. "Or something like that."

"The 'Last Sip'," Raizo nodded slowly, unable to blink. He moved quickly, like cat, snatching up a wooden cup off water off a nearby table and drank a quick sip. "It's for good luck. It reminds the combatant of why he's fighting."

Mika wordlessly accepted the cup from him, sipping without tasting and hastily putting it down.

"Raizo—"

"Seven days ago," he cut her off suddenly, never taking his eyes off hers, as he moved dangerously close, "Kameyo-sama came to me and told me that according to the law of the Nine Clans, the winner of a round in the Ritual of Tigers can have whatever he wants."

"Raizo—"

"You are _mine_, Mika," he told her deliberately. "It's been seven days since I last touched you, and I've lain awake for seven nights wanting nothing else. When I return victorious tonight, Mika, Kameyo-sama will no longer keep us apart. From now on, every night that I lie down…you will lie down next to me."

"B-But," Mika blinked, stammering as she took a step back. "What about…conserving your energy?"

Raizo laughed as he hadn't in days. It seemed she was the only person who made him laugh; no wonder he loved her so.

Except…there was something different now. She was turned on—he could tell—but it was like she was…it was as though he could smell….

_Fear_.

"Mika," he said gently as possible, "this will all be over soon. With the Murasaki are in power, we can leave and never look back. This will be behind us—it will be _over_, I promise."

A dark look clouded her brown eyes, as she shook her head and murmured softly, "Raizo, it's never over."

_

* * *

Such barbarism…yet such beauty_.

Indeed, the paradox confounded Mika Coretti. The warm Mediterranean wind tossed the colorful silken banners, and a gloriously full and haloed moon lit up the sea with an ethereal aura. Mika herself felt like a princess from the ancient days as she stood next to where Lady Kameyo sat on her throne-like, eyes bright and eager for combat to begin.

Raizo and his opponent—Kichiro, was it?—approached silently, unmasked. Each man was mind-numbingly handsome, even as they visibly shut down all display of emotion. They locked as and did not waver as they brandished their blades and bowed ever so slightly.

"The Fujin," Lady Kameyo snorted. Mika didn't have to be told the old woman was _always_ talking to her; Kameyo was _always_ talking to her. "Clan of Wind and Sail—they're very old-fashioned, you know. See those swords? They're _daito_, not katana…old as hell." She snickered, shaking her gray head, adorned with three sticks of pure jade. "Lord Fujin never changes."

Lord Fujin, a graying man draped in shadow, suddenly called an unfamiliar word and combat began with lightning speed. Startled, Mika's breath caught as she saw Raizo fight for the first time in weeks. For a split second she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her…but then she realized she wasn't hallucinating.

She didn't know what the Murasaki had been teaching him this past week, but they had taught him _well_. He was faster than Kichiro, stronger, more alert, wielding his sword like a demon. Kichiro managed to cut Raizo a few times, but Raizo did far more damage.

Mika felt her body grow warm…this was for her. He was doing this for her, for love of her, for desire. Seven days…for seven days he'd gone without sexual pleasure and she new it had to be driving him mad. Raizo was impulsive; when desire took hold of him he acted without thinking and took without asking.

Her breath caught again as her body tightened. He was going to win. Already Kichiro was limping, breathless and seemingly unfocused. Raizo was going to win, and Lady Kameyo would award him his prize once he won.

She would loosen her controlling reigns and let him have what he clearly wanted more than anything else in the world: Mika.

Why was this turning her on? It was wrong, it was barbaric and old-fashioned. She was a person, not a prize. She was a living being, not an object of lust strong enough to drive one man to carve up another….

Silence ruled when Kichiro's body hit the wooden deck of the _Shikibu_; around the ship the Mediterranean waves lapped at the boat, and blood dripped from Raizo's blade.

The silence which followed Kichiro's failure was deafening, and yet Mika understood it completely. There was nothing _to_ say.

Raizo bowed to Lord Fujin and Lady Kameyo. Splattered in blood and dripping sweat, he walked past Mika. For a split second their eyes locked, and what she saw in his raised her temperature several degrees and threatened to make her knees buckle beneath her.

* * *

_A/N - We have six more fights to go. I'm open to suggestion for other locations around the world. If you have an idea, by all means—put it in your review or post it on the Blasian Narrative!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Once again, guys…REALLY sorry for the delay. Work is just killin' me, I tell ya…._

_*sigh*_

**

* * *

**

**Emiko, the Second Tigress**

_Siracusa, Sicily_

Mika Coretti waited with baited breath as the fishing boat carried the Murasaki party away from the cruise ship _Shikibu_. Raizo was the winner. He would want to claim his prize, denied him seven days. He wouldn't be in the mood to hear "No" or "Let's wait" or "Can we talk about your childhood?"

The boat docked at the seaside town of Siracusa where Lady Kameyo had already booked an entire inn. At first, Mika thought she'd done these to ensure the discretion for all the ninja in attendance, but then she quickly realized the old woman had simply done because she _could;_ when a clan charged 100 pounds of gold per target and killed hundreds of targets a year, they could pretty much afford anything.

She was given an opulent candlelit suite with a king-sized bed.

_No_, Mika quickly corrected herself. _**We**__ have been given an opulent suite._

_**We**__ have been given a king-sized bed_.

Before she could wrap her thoughts about what she was going to do, Raizo entered after her, bleeding, his tunic slashed, and his face weary.

"Mika," he yawned blissfully, peeling away the bloodied, sweat-drenched tunic and tossing it aside. "Oh, Mika, Mika."

"Raizo—"

"He cut me, Mika," Raizo murmured miserably. "That jerk cut me." He winced as he pulled off the rest of his clothes, revealing slashes which hadn't healed yet. He paused, looking at her wistfully before asking, "Bathe with me?"

The sight of him cut and bloody still made her insides twist. How many times had he sustained injury to keep her from harm?

She suddenly felt guilty for keeping herself from him, distrusting him when he'd saved her life and consistently put her safety first. How many times did he have to apologize for endangering her?

The last time he'd been gravely wounded – saving _her_ life, mind you - Raizo'd lain on a motel bed bloodied and unconscious before. She'd set up him to be taken by the Ozunu, implanted with a tracking device. And though her risky plan had brought about the "burning halls of Ozunu", it could have just as easily gone the other way.

And then there would have been no one…no one to keep her safe, to love her and need her and look at her the way he did right now.

"Of course I'll bathe with you," Mika sighed, telling her paranoia to silence itself. She slowly began to disrobe, moving with a wifely air.

_He cut me, Mika_. His words tugged at her, almost making her almost teary. _That jerk cut me_.

But "that jerk" was dead now, and for another seven days, Raizo had won their comfort and safety. He was fighting for their lives, and now was that not the time to break his heart and reject his affections.

The Ozunu may have been a rotten clan of dishonorable bastards, but Raizo was must assuredly not. And she slipped into the large marble bathtub of hot, steamy water, Mika settled behind him, rubbing his shoulders and winning soft, almost child-like sighs from him.

_He takes care of me_, Mika reasoned, her thoughts filled with finality. _I should take care of him too_.

_We're in this – together – from hereon out_.

_

* * *

_

**_Alesund, Norway; Seven Days Later_**

Though the Orochi Clan was predominantly male, its proudest and most skillful warrior was the pretty and surprisingly petite Emiko, often nicknamed the "Jade Slayer" for the pure jade stones decorating the handles of her shimmering katana and wakizashi, her favorite weapons with which she excelled.

Naturally, her skills and accomplishments afforded her _many_ privileges.

Like Øyvind. Just two weeks ago, Kameyo-sama of the Murasaki Clan had introduced Emiko to the tall, pale, blue-eyed, blond-haired Øyvind, seemingly by chance. At first, Emiko had not been entranced by the Viking-blooded stranger; men of the West often favored women of the East and she usually figured they were sick in some way, unable to see Eastern women as anything more than exotic diversions.

But Øyvind was different from other men; _he_…sought to please _her_.

It was most unusual…but appreciated nonetheless. Even now, in her lavish suite at Hjördis Hotel in Alesund, as she lay on a silken bed of the deepest, serpentine green, Øyvind fed her strawberries dipped in chocolate. He also tried to offer her a third glass of champagne but she refused.

"I have to kill that Ozunu rat this evening, remember, Øyvind?" Emiko laughed gaily, waving him away with a slim leg.

"How about a massage then?" he asked in his low, thick, and leisurely accent. "You complained of sore feet yesterday."

Emiko's feet were always sore, but it was more psychological than it was physical; like many raised from childhood to be ninja, she'd undergone brutal lessons to learn soundless movement. Even as she smiled sweetly, her eyes darkened at the memories of childhood lessons.

"By all means, Øyvind," she smirked. "If it pleases you."

"No, no," he shook his head of spiked blond hair. "If it pleases _you_."

Moments later, he was using those big, strong hands of his to massage warmed Moroccan oil into the soles her feet – yet another sweet gift from Kameyo-sama. Granted, it wasn't so wise to be accepting gifts from ninja outside her clan, especially during clan war (ceasefire notwithstanding), but the Followers of Takako were not the enemy. They were _no one's_ enemy; that was, after all, the point of all their philosophies on "wisdom over warfare."

"_Mmmm_, Øyvind," Emiko moaned, lying back against the silken pillows of her king-sized bed. "When Lord Orochi asks me what I want after I kill Raizo, I will ask to be stationed in Norway permanently."

Øyvind flashed an enigmatic smile, working his fingers and rubbing the oil deep into her scars. "I will serve you until you are wizened and gray, Emiko. It will be my deepest pleasure."

Emiko sighed blissfully, as she always did during his foot massages. At first she thought he was some sort of foot fetishist, but it turned out he was an actual masseuse. And he was _very_ good at his job.

"Øyvind…are there anymore of those strawberries?"

_

* * *

_

_God…this country's __**freezing**_.

Mika didn't dare voice her discomfort aloud; she'd taken to simply not saying anything negative in Lady Kameyo's presence, and she didn't dare complain about anything to Raizo. He was already under enough stress, practicing every day and still eating austere meals. Granted, she didn't deny him her body at night, but she still wished she could do more to support him.

Lady Kameyo had rented all the rooms at the Vendela Inn (Mika quickly noticed Kameyo favored inns over hotels). The Vendela was very proud of its Norse heritage; the rooms were decorated with curving ram's horns and bear heads, not to mention many statues of the Norse gods. The walls and floors were grim gray stone. Every bedchamber had its own fireplace, and that was the sole source of warmth in the winter. The beds were covered in real furs, and all guests had to bathe the "old-fashioned" way.

In a weird way, the Murasaki were quite at home in the land of the Vikings; warriors of a feather and all that. None of the ninja even flinched at the bloody murals splayed across the walls, depicting epic battles and bloodshed from centuries past for more graphically than any mural in Hotel Red Sand.

In the meantime, Lady Kameyo continued to heap her creepy affection on Mika. She'd sent for winter clothes for all her warriors, but Mika got the finest fur wrap, the best quality boots, and clothes of the softest, darkest wool. Mika's cornrows were out now; her hair was dark, free and blossoming wildly from her scalp. When she refused to straighten it, Lady Kameyo sent for a headdress from India, crafted from solid gold, with pearls that dangled down her forehead.

Tonight, she stood shivering outside, despite wearing fur and dark violet wool, with boots laced up the knees. The Vendela was located roughly a mile from the fjords; they were lined with fir trees and they overlooked the frosty waves of the Atlantic Ocean. With the waning moon still brightly shining, Shiori had thought it a "marvelous" idea to practice swordplay by the ocean, and Lady Kameyo – ever the demented romantic – had agreed.

In two weeks alone, Raizo's swordsmanship had vastly improved under Murasaki tutelage. Try as she might, the fluid and flexible Shiori failed to draw blood (not that he managed to cut her either). They each both wielded a katana and wakizashi, and they moved with lightning speed. The clashing of blades rung out into the night.

Kameyo sighed blissfully, wrapped up in her extravagant fur coat, her jewels glittering obscenely in her hair. Mika repressed a snort. The old bat no doubt found the moon, ocean, snow, and swords all very quixotic.

"Mika," the old woman said suddenly.

Mika forced herself to reply without twitching. "Yes, my Lady?"

"When all is said and done, and Raizo crowned champion, do you…do you think he would be willing to remain with the Sisters of Ozunu?"

Mika's jaw hit the snowy ground. Had the old woman finally gone mad? Or was it too late for that?s

"I'd spoil you both," Lady Kameyo hurried to assure her. "You would never want for anything. It's just…he truly is a wonder to behold."

Mika followed Kameyo's gaze to Raizo, clad in black with high boots and his long hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Against the Norwegian night, he _was_ breathtaking to watch – so strong, so solid, so swift. Mika bit her bottom lip, remembering their morning shower, recalling how he'd effortlessly picked up her in mid-kiss, slowly and torturously slid into her, and worked them both to completion while she'd clawed his back and growled his name.

Mika caught her breath, remembering the tight, steady feel of his hands on her hips, murmuring over and over again between kisses,

"_Oh…Mika, Mika…taste…pineapple…."_

"The decision would be his, of course," Mika replied quickly, trying not to groan when she spoke. Beside Kameyo, she caught Noriko giving her a very forbidding look. The tall ninja smoothly looked away, back to the sparring session, where her eyes narrowed on Raizo.

For some reason, Mika didn't feel afraid. If anything, she felt the opposite. Kameyo had shown Raizo and Mika much favor, more than she had any of her own warriors, and now it was to the point she'd angered one of her commanders.

It didn't take Sun Tzu to spell the obvious out to her: she and Raizo could use this little development to their advantage.

Mika blinked, catching herself at once.

_Dear God…I'm starting to think like a ninja_.

* * *

When the time for the fight arrived, Mika Coretti's stomach was in knots. A client of the Formerly Nine Clans provided the ninjas with two torch-lit Viking longboats, and several planks of wood connecting them in a rather tenuous bridge. Beneath the bridge, of course, was the frigid Atlantic, its waters ominously dark.

Mika was quickly developing a dislike of boats.

On one boat stood the Orochi, the proud Serpent Clan with their emerald-colored banners and crests. Their lord was a sensei in his early sixties; though his golden face was unlined, his short hair fully was grayed, and he wore plain clothes of dark green cotton, beneath heavy furs around his shoulders.

Mika blinked. Had everyone gone suddenly gone Viking out?

On the other boat were the fearless and female Murasaki, their scarlet banners fluttering iniquitously in the night wind as the two chosen warriors stepped upon the bridge.

They stood across from each, unmasked, giving Mika a full view of Emiko's outstandingly beautiful face. The young woman bore a confident, red-lipped smirk as she brandished her bejeweled blades in the moonlight.

It was Lord Orochi who commanded them to begin.

Emiko was faster than Kichiro; she was shorter and skinnier and so moved more easily. She lacked Raizo's strength, but she made up for it with enviable agility. In under three minutes, she drew blood four times.

Mika's heart leapt into her throat.

But then, as the warriors warmed up and adapted to each other, Emiko quickly seemed to tire. Her speed dropped, her reflexes dulled, and before seven minutes passed - before anyone could even think - her pretty little head was sent sinking into the Atlantic, and her body quickly followed.

Lady Kameyo smiled broadly, openly, even as Lord Orochi visibly smoldered. He wisely didn't break clan law and retaliate, however, and victory was declared for Murasaki.

Or so Mika thought.

After a passionate bout of lovemaking, Mika left a sleeping Raizo in the early morning to retrieve a pitcher of water from the Vendela Inn kitchen. Even in this, the Inn was "old-fashioned"; meat was hunted and cooked over a hearth, and the guests were bluntly told to fetch their own damn mead.

She was met by a fuming Noriko in the hall, however; the tall ninja's sudden presence alarmed and frightened Mika. She'd never seen Noriko's wrath before, but she did vividly remember the vicious, oozing whip marks down Raizo's back.

"Your boyfriend is no _champion_, Mika," the ninja spat, keeping her voice hushed. "Kameyo-sama has fixed this tournament to ensure his victory."

Mika was too frozen to speak. This didn't stop her mind from whirling, though.

_Um…if you say so_.

When Mika didn't reply, Noriko irritably bit out, "When the other clans announced their champions, Kameyo-sama sent each warrior two gifts: a lover, and a special bottle of oil. She is _poisoning_ the competition, Mika; as this tournament wears on, Raizo will find each opponent _easier_ to defeat than the last – not harder. Murasaki victory was decided before he and Kichiro ever came to blows."

Still, Mika was a deer in headlights.

_And uh…this has what to do with me, exactly?_

"You and your _boyfriend_," Noriko hissed, "are not needed here. When this tournament is done, and we are declared the Elder Clan, I want you and that Ozunu bastard gone from our lives. Kameyo-sama shows you too much favor; in her feeble age she forgets our clan accepts no man into its ranks."

Mika blinked. _Uh-huh…?_

"Well?" the ninja finally snapped. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Mika haplessly shrugged. "Like what?"

"Like you will take that traitor and _go_ when this tournament is done!"

"And Kameyo-sama?" Mika asked. "Do you really think she'll just let us walk out of Hotel Red Sand? As far as she is concerned, she _owns_ us. Raizo's her toy soldier and I'm her black Barbie, remember? What do you want me to _do_, Noriko?"

"You may not believe this, Mika, but Raizo will _want_ to stay when he is declared champion," Noriko told her impatiently. "She will offer money, security, pleasures and adventures – status he's never had before in the Clans. We are a sisterhood of _seducers_, Mika – have you learned nothing from studying our history? Raizo _will_ want to stay, and the only person who will keep him from doing so is you."

_Bitch, you ain't got to tell me twice!_

But Mika remained slightly unconvinced. "You still haven't answered my question about Kameyo," she insisted. "What's to keep her from ordering our deaths, should we refuse her offer?"

Noriko gritted her teeth, and Mika knew the ninja's patience was at an end. It was obvious by how clipped her voice came out. "_You_ just stick to looking pretty, talking sweetly, and keep your boyfriend satisfied in the sack." She tightly gripped the handle of her katana.

"When the time comes, _I_ will deal with Kameyo-sama."

* * *

**A/N:** _By the way, I apologize if these seem short; it's mostly the fight scenes' fault. The fight scenes are not the point, IMO, hence my not describing them in-depth (especially since Kameyo was shifty and cunning enough to have them all fixed). The deceit, the fear, the love - that's the point, not the violence. When I myself need a violence fix for NA, I just pop in the movie itself and watch a shirtless, sweaty, bloodstained, and unbearably sexy Rain go on his killing spree._

_*sigh*_

_By the way, thanks to everyone who's suggested a location here and on The Blasian Narrative. I've gotten requests for deserts, mountains, Africa, Japan - you name it! I will try to accomodate as many people as possible, I promise!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks, everyone...and sorry for all the delays!_

_This story is rapidly coming to an end now (the tournament won't be fleshed out; I don't want to become repetitious) so thanks again to everyone who's read, commented, and enjoyed!_

_And now...enjoy some more!_

**

* * *

Saburo, the Third Tiger**

_Amnat Charoen Province, Thailand_

_Six Days Later_

Even out in here in the Mekong Valley, news of Emiko's death in Norway could be heard.

Saburo hung his head and sighed. He was a giant of a man, shaven-haired and muscular. But even he had a heart, and even he could sigh over news about yet another quick and nearly flawless victory.

The sun was setting, and Subira would worry if he didn't come home soon. He wasn't even supposed to have a woman; Lord Mamoru of the Chiyoko Clan had expressly stated complete isolation was the whole _point_ of Saburo's exile.

But then again, _following_ rules wasn't what had gotten Saburo exiled in the first place.

Usually, when Saburo defied his lord – and it was far more often than anyone in their clan cared to admit – his punishment was a thousand lashes of the whip, four days without water, and one full week without food. But his last bout of rebellion must have _really_ made the old man angry, because he'd personally shoved Saburo out a helicopter and into tangled wilds of Thailand…after they'd hashed out an "agreement".

No friends. No woman. No one to keep him company at all. Only a messenger would be allowed to see him every few months or so with news.

At first, Saburo had welcomed the isolation. He spent his days walking along the Mekong River, hunting, fishing, and making his own weapons from wood and stone. He'd taken up residence in the Twilight Hall of the Broken Temple, a desolate cluster of buildings with shattered domes, cracked walls, and engravings so ancient and worn he couldn't make them out. He showered the thick, warm, abundant rainfall, and he slept beneath a blanket of brilliant stars.

It was a wondrous and spiritual experience, so much that Saburo felt inspired to shave his head like a monk, and dedicate several hours a day to meditation.

He did not go mad from silence. There was no silence, of course; the jungle was alive with all manner of chatty insects and beasts hurrying about their business day and night. But soon…the loneliness came. He sparred alone. He ate alone. He slept alone.

And within mere weeks, Saburo's heart began to ache.

Indeed, the old man must have been furious with him, for a whole year came and went, and still Lord Mamoru refused to end the exile.

But then…Kameyo-sama arrived.

Some three weeks earlier, she'd arrived via helicopter, surrounded by lithe, masked attendants who brought tea, silken bedding, proper food, news of the civilized world, and a jewel of the African savannah: the tall, the dark, the luscious Subira.

So deep were her eyes that Saburo was immediately lost in them, so nimble and fluid were her fingers that he didn't even bother trying to resist her charms as she rubbed his back and feet with musky scented oil.

Kameyo-sama had told him the news: should he fight Raizo and win, his exile would end. Should he lose to Raizo…well, his exile would still end.

Saburo didn't care.

It had been a year since he'd eaten noodles boiled in seasoned broth, tasted freshly brewed tea, felt soft cushions, and known the warm, wet pleasure of a woman's body.

_Never_ again would he defy Lord Mamoru…at least, not in the manner he had before.

He could smell burning incense wafting out to him from the cracked halls of the Broken Temple. Subira was probably warming water for their bath. Already he could feel her hands on his back, on his chest. He could already taste her mouth and feel her legs wrapping around his waist.

Yes…he needed to get back to her quickly.

Nightfall slowly descended around Saburo, while a choir of crickets accompanied his footsteps home.

* * *

Raizo sighed blissfully. "Thailand is a beautiful country."

Mika Coretti flashed him a smile, that smile which never failed to warm him. Lady Kameyo had rented them a small, flat, candlelit boat so they could spend the evening together, drifting lazily down the river. Mika herself had draped the mosquito nets over the entire boat, and then heavily sprayed the nets down with bug repellant. She'd then lined inside of the boat with rugs and cushions, creating a mini-cruise ship.

Now she sat across from him, wearing a flimsy, sheer, linen white cloth which draped over one shoulder. Her curly black hair tumbled wildly down her shoulders, contrasting splendid with the gold and pearl headdress Lady Kameyo had bought for her.

"Mika," Raizo murmured, looking her over leisurely, "as always…you look like a princess."

She laughed softly, and her voice was his undoing. In a split second, he was by her side, murmuring her name and kissing her bare shoulder.

"Oh, Mika, Mika…I could look at you forever."

She laughed again, even as he slid the cloth from her other should and began to push her down onto her back, kissing her breasts.

"Raizo!" she protested, putting her hands on his shoulders and faintly pressing. "People can see us from the shore!"

Raizo winked, leaning away from her to quickly blow out the candles in the center of the boat. Darkness surrounded them instantly, and suddenly Mika recalled her newfound dislike of boats.

"Oh, great going," she chided him. "Now we'll be lost in the night."

Raizo chuckled huskily; his voice was briefly muffled, and in the faint starlight she could see he was pulling off his pale gray T-shirt. She ceased protest when his solid body pressed against her, pushing her back onto the cushions and capturing her mouth.

"I'm sure…," he mumbled between kisses, "they'll find us…eventually…maybe around dawn…."

But Mika had already stopped caring. Squirming beneath him, she shed her cloth and her panties, unzipping Raizo's black jeans for him. But before she could reach inside and grab what she'd wanted all day, he moved away, keeping his mouth on her, working his way down her neck to her breasts, where he kissed and fondled thoroughly, making her ache and moan beneath him.

"Raizo…." She tried to reach for his jeans again but he moved even further down, kissing her stomach and tonguing her navel. His hands were firmly planted on either side of her, and when she reached for his arms, clawing at them, digging her nails into his shoulders, she barely scratched the surface of his steel-toned muscles.

Patiently, he nipped at her abdomen, never speeding up or slowing…even as his mouth went lower.

Mika's gasped loudly, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he laved and kissed her lower lips apart. He maintained a slow, steady, unflinching rhythm, moaning lowly as his mouth worked. Each deliberate, relentless rough lick of his tongue and moist caress of his lips drove her to thrash her head from side to side.

She cried out his name as she came; it echoed across the still, starlit river waters. As Mika gasped for breath, Raizo kissed his way back up her stomach, her breasts, her throat, and finally her mouth, claiming it even as he pushed into her…pulsing, throbbing, and full.

"_Mika_…," he groaned. "Mika, Mika, Mika…." He cupped her buttocks as the last of his remarkable control snapped. Impatiently, Raizo plunged into her over and over again, holding her steady, ensuring that her body received his fully each time. He bruised her inner walls pleasantly despite the liquid heat she drenched him in. Fevered, she clutched his muscular shoulders and bit his neck ferociously.

It finished him.

"_Mika_…I love you more and more…."

It was his sudden admission which brought them both to climax…never had he used those words until now, and they filled them both with heady, mind-numbing waves of electric warmth. Again and again the searing heat washed over them, rocking and ripping through their bodies with shudders. He erupted inside her several times, each geyser blast hotter than the last.

He eventually collapsed against her, and slowly the couple drifted back down to earth. They could hear voices on the shore, and the waters gently lapping against the boat. Their heartbeats slowed, beating almost in unison as they deeply breathed in the pure night air.

"I could stay like this forever," Raizo murmured suddenly, turning to nuzzle her neck, his breath warm.

He could tell Mika was smiling into the dark. "Yes," she sighed. "Just like this."

"Kameyo-sama treats us well," he broached gingerly. "Ozunu never showed me favor like this."

He felt her stiffen against him, as she sometimes did these days. Every time she did so his guts twisted and his heart hiccupped in fear. He didn't want her to fear him, but he couldn't help the fact that he was – in truth – a _very_ bad man.

"With the Murasaki as the Elder Clan," he continued uncomfortably, "our safety would no longer be an issue. And you see how she cares for you, adores you, showers you with gifts. We could travel the world with her. Would you like that, Mika?"

"Raizo," she began, and she sounded equally uneasy, "I…appreciate how you've fought for us. I thank you for saving my life again and again."

Raizo raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"I can't live with ninjas," Mika said, sitting up and even in the dark, he could tell she was upset. Her special heart thudded unhappily, and her whole body tensed. "I can't survive in this world."

"You mean _my_ world," he said softly.

Her head snapped towards him in the dark. "That is not what I meant."

"This _is_ my world, Mika," he insisted coolly. "This is where I come from."

"No," she shook her head adamantly. "No. You were an orphan. You had a family once."

"And I don't remember them," he shrugged in the dark. "All I remember is the wisdom and tutelage of the Nine Clans. I may not be a true Ozunu, but I _am_ a ninja, Mika. And there's no place for me in the outside world."

"You mean _my_ world," she countered, and there was an accusing note in her voice. "The world of daylight, laughter, and '9 to 5'. What's wrong, Raizo? Is that world not exciting enough for you?"

He reached her suddenly, sighing in the night and pulling her back against him and the cool, soft cushions.

"Let's not fight about this, Mika," he murmured, planting soft kisses upon her shoulder and neck. "I'm just trying to be realistic. Here we are safe and well-cared for."

"We are _not_ safe," she said tightly. "You've been blinded by Kameyo's cosseting. So much you don't even see the dissent it's causing."

Raizo stiffened next to her. He hadn't thought about that. He hadn't even noticed…even though it was something a ninja should.

He _should've_ known…_long_ before Mika ever did.

"Shiori?" he asked gingerly.

"Noriko," Mika murmured cautiously, even though they were both alone. "She's the one who approached me, but I don't know how many others are with her."

Raizo felt his insides twist. A wave of nausea slithered through him as he shuddered to think he'd been caught unaware…amongst killers, no less. It could've meant his death.

It could've meant Mika's death.

He cursed himself over and over again, even as he kept his mouth silent.

"She…'approached' you?" he asked finally, amazed at how calm he kept his voice.

"Kameyo's favor is making people bitter, Raizo," Mika repeated simply. "The Murasaki don't want a male champion. They don't want a male _anything_, and while I normally wouldn't side with them…our presence is disrupting their world, Raizo. Their legacy, their philosophy…their identity even. We don't belong here." She turned to face him in the dark, her voice soft and gentle. "Like it or not, we're outsiders. We belong on the _outside_."

* * *

Saburo cursed himself. It was past dawn on the seventh day, and yet he was almost too lazy to rouse himself from bed. Part of that was Subira's fault; her warm body called to him even now as he rose and quickly slid into plain black cotton pants. None but the Murasaki were allowed to known she was here. If word got back to Lord Mamoru that his exiled rebel had taken a lover, victory over Raizo would be meaningless.

Saburo stepped from the Twilight Hall and immediately cursed himself again. Though no one was in sight, he could see the familiar vermillion banners of his clan lining a dirt path away from the Broken Temple. Somewhere in the tangled jungle, his opponent awaited him.

Meanwhile, his fellow clan members knew his secret. A messenger had probably already set out to Mamoru with the extremely unpleasant news.

Saburo turned back into the Twilight Hall. He retrieved his wooden staff from among the weapons he'd fashioned himself. Before setting out down the path, he paused to behold a sleeping Subira, taking in her curvy, dark, naked body. He didn't fear for her; she was friend to Kameyo-sama and none of the Chiyoko ninjas would harm her.

Sighing, Saburo marched to the fight, unmasked.

Standing in a shaded clearing, Mika Coretti was amazed to see so many ninja in broad daylight. They were draped in sheer linen robes of pale gray, their faces appropriately masked except for Lady Kameyo and – much to her surprise – Raizo. _He_ was shirtless, his hair pulled back, and he was barefoot beneath his plain black pants.

In short, he looked stunning.

He was armed with a wooden staff, his opponent's reputed favored weapon. And even though it was early morning, the jungle air was already warming and growing thick, covering his golden skin with a light sheen.

At last…his opponent approached.

This Saburo of legend truly was a giant of a man. Though he didn't tower over Raizo by much, his muscles were much bigger and his eyes bore a deep and unwavering focus.

He was here to _win_.

Mika couldn't blame him; Shiori had explained Saburo's exile, how he'd been out here in the wilds all on his own. It was no shocker whatsoever that he badly wanted out.

A female Chiyoko commander stood in place of the clan lord. Beautifully veiled, she bore the crest of her clan and sat beneath a brilliant vermillion silk flag of the Chiyoko. It was she who commanded the two men to begin.

Saburo moved with purpose. He'd clearly been practicing a lot over the past year; after all, he had little else to do out here. The staff truly was his weapon, for he was faster than Raizo, wielding more deftly and with much more ease.

Not that Raizo wasn't holding his own; he was slenderer than Saburo, which made it easier for him to dance around the giant. They whirled their staffs like light, and the clashing of wooden echoed throughout the jungle.

"Saburo looks well this morning," Lady Kameyo mused, fanning herself delicately. "Exile has done wonders for his form." She wore a thin cotton dress which bared one shoulder, and her hair was pulled up in a plain chignon. Indeed…the jungle had brought out the practicality in everyone.

Next to her mistress, Shiori chuckled, "I'm amazed he can still fight a human after all these months of sparring alone. Raizo has yet to land a blow!"

Noriko's steely tone dulled the mood. "Saburo's style is impeccable," she bit out. "We may have underestimated him. Exile has clearly worked in his favor."

"Hardly," Lady Kameyo mumbled. "Raizo will be able to handle him…just like the others."

"Eventually," Noriko hissed under her breath, "we will meet one who's _not_ like the others, Kameyo-sama. Remember Tsuyoshi? We still haven't…_figured_ him out yet."

"Tsuyoshi is human," Kameyo waved her fan dismissively. "All humans have a certain 'weakness' of the flesh."

"Our contacts in Kyoto report that as of last week, Tsuyoshi's been staying a local _ryokan_," Shiori piped up. "He's been _assigned_ there."

Mika noticed how Lady Kameyo slightly tensed. Stiffly, the old woman asked, "And is he…alone?"

"Alone," Shiori nodded. "And very, very fit, Mistress."

"Kameyo-sama, I suggest we initiate our back-up plan," Noriko murmured tightly. "I know Raizo is scheduled to face the Izanagi Clan last, however—"

"It's never too early to start," Kameyo nodded, but only barely. For the first time, Mika saw doubt and worry cloud the old woman's eyes, and her mind raced.

_Izanagi Clan? Tsuyoshi? Not yet "figured" out?_

She turned to see her man sweat profusely as he fended off Saburo. At some point during the fight, Saburo had cracked Raizo's staff in two and now the slender warrior was whirling the two halves fiercely, landing blows against Saburo's knees, back, and upper arms, but not really doing any damage. Already this fight was lasting longer than the ones with Kichiro and Emiko, and Mika was rapidly growing concerned.

It _really_ didn't help when Shiori sighed musingly, "Saburo truly is fit, is he not…Mika?" The pretty ninja snickered derisively. "I've seen him fight many times and I have to admit…he's in rare form this morning. Guess your man's just not the champion he thought he was, huh?"

Mika twitched. _Come on, Raizo; kill him already!_

Her lover's opportunity came when whatever poison Saburo was being given finally kicked in. It made sense it would take longer with him; he was a giant of a man, shaven-haired and largely muscled. But apparently he too was no match for the wrath of the Murasaki.

Saburo's remarkable speed slowed, his defenses started dropping, and when he least expected it, Raizo broke his neck in two blows.

The mighty warrior fell, his body hitting the jungle floor with a heavy thud that would no doubt be heard 'round the world.

* * *

_**A/N:** Let's see...we've done Norway, we've done Thailand, and Kyoto's being saved for last...how does the desert sound next?_


	10. Chapter 10

_I don't own_ Ninja Assassin. _ If I did...LOL...there'd be no need for fanfic._

_Sorry that loooooooong delay everyone! Work keeps gettin' in the way!_

_We've got one more chapter and a possible epilogue. Thanks guys! It's been fun!_

**

* * *

Into the Sands **_(originally supposed to be "The Desert Blade")_**  
**

_Three weeks later, the outskirts of Jizan, Saudi Arabia_

She'd seen him fight hand-to-hand on a rooftop in Manhattan. She'd seen him wield escrimas in a flaming circle in one of the southern provinces of the Philippines. Each time, Raizo prevailed with ease. Now only two opponents remained, the sixth and seventh "Tigers" of the tournament, and Mika Coretti couldn't ignore her growing dread.

Her research on the Izanagi Clan wasn't turning up much. Compared to the others, the Izanagi were a very young clan. And though their name was not absent from the Murasaki diaries, little of import was recorded about them. They didn't appear to have any unusual abilities; no epics were written about their champions and yet…something about their mediocrity made Mika think it was a clever façade for their mystery. She sensed the ultimate ninja tactic.

There was something this clan was hiding from their brethren, and it wasn't sitting too well with Mika.

Nor Lady Kameyo, for that matter. She and Noriko maintained their bravado admirably, but even Shiori was starting to lose her humor. Kameyo had sent the mysterious Tsuyoshi many different kinds of lovers, all to no avail. His health and form remained in tact.

Tonight, the four ladies sat in Lady Kameyo's lavish tent several miles east outside of Jizan. Mika was no longer surprised that the Murasaki – no matter where they went – always managed to travel in style. The inner lining of Kameyo's tent was pure silk, dark and red as blood. Her floor was covered with thick cotton cloth, and then layered with expensive rugs for comfort. And the tent was filled with cream-colored pillar candles perched on tall black cast iron stands. This evening, Noriko played will cupbearer to her mistress, filling and refilling the old woman's sake glass.

A belly dancer from a local village was sent to entertain Lady Kameyo tonight. She had skin the color of the desert, thickly kohl-rimmed eyes, and a long, sheer veil of the palest pink. Within moments of her arrival, the tent filled with perfume from the blossoms braided into her pitch black hair.

She was accompanied by a trio of young male musicians, the eldest no more than twenty or so. He played a flute, so husky and mournful it compelled Mika and the Murasaki into complete silence. The dancer's performance mirrored the flute-player's sadness. She was not precise in her movements; there was far too much emotion for that. She was like a force of nature, embodying the sorrow and loneliness of the desert wind.

_This_, Mika thought, _**this**__ is real dancing_. She could see Shiori watching the dancer carefully, trying to memorize her style. Mika smirked, pitying the young ninja, knowing the warrior's efforts would forever be in vain.

_You can nail the movements to a T_, she snickered to herself, _but if you have no soul, you can never bring the art itself to life_.

The dancer finished gracefully, bowing to appreciative applause before exiting quickly. On her way out, she bumped into Raizo, carrying an armful of swords.

"I went into the village," he greeted the ladies with a slight bow. "The blacksmith had my order ready, as promised. Are they not beautiful, Kameyo-sama?"

Shiori rose fluidly from her perch at her mistress's feet and came to him. She took sword and brandished for Lady Kameyo to see. Mika did not miss how the curving blade gleamed eerily in the candlelight.

The old woman waved dismissively, unimpressed by its beauty. "I never cared much for the scimitar," she grumbled. "I just couldn't ever seem to find the right outfit to go with it."

Had this been a couple of months earlier, Mika's jaw would've hit the floor. But she was now used to the old woman's random bouts of shallow honesty. She now saw and accepted Kameyo for the vain Murasaki princess she was. Every night, Kameyo took hours to dress, often enlisting Mika's aid in choosing her evening gown. Tonight, Noriko and Mika had swathed Lady Kameyo in an Arabian dream of sheer lilac muslin over pale gray silks. Mika herself had braided back the long gray hair, smoothing it with mild jasmine oil. As always, Kameyo had to be the belle of the ball. And she wasn't an oddity in this. Mika had already gleaned from the Murasaki diaries that clan mistresses were vain and mysterious.

Ironically, these were the old woman's most tolerable flaws.

"Katashi favors the scimitar," Raizo grinned, going over to a wide rug and kneeling to lay out his many blades. "It will be a great pleasure to best that pompous prick at his favorite weapon."

"Tell me again…what's he doing out here so far from civilization?" Kameyo inquired, holding out her glass for her third or fourth refill.

"The American government hired the Hanako Clan to take out the family of an oil mogul," Raizo replied, testing the various swords for balance. "Rumor has it the mogul stashed his younger children out here. Katashi was sent to kill them all."

"But…," Mika began carefully, "if you kill him tonight, then he won't complete his mission."

Raizo merely shrugged. "His clan will simply send another. Unfortunately, Katashi knows these deserts better than any in his clan. His replacement will no doubt fail."

Mika repressed her sigh of relief. She was getting good that, hiding her emotions, keeping her voice neutral, and maintaining an almost stoic disposition at all times. She'd even learned to control the beating of her special heart, thanks to Raizo. Mika often amused herself by thinking any day now she was going to start seeing things strictly in terms of "logical" and "illogical".

Raizo wasn't _only_ teaching Mika to be a Vulcan, of course. Three weeks or so ago, Lady Kameyo had given Mika yet another gift, this one wholly different from the others. It was an intricately carved crossbow, slim, lightweight, made from polished red wood and inlaid with jade and silver. Mika was excited about this gift; it gave her something to _do_ rather than _wear_, as though she were a living doll.

Since that day she'd taken archery lessons from Raizo. Her aim was steadily improving, but she still had to learn to reload more quickly. Shiori have given her silver crossbow bolts as a gift, and though Mika remained "armed" at all times, she really didn't want to use any of those precious bolts.

A Murasaki maiden entered the tent suddenly, her head hanging low. She looked worn and tired, as though she'd traveled a great distance, and by her facial expression, Mika knew they were all about to hear bad news.

The young girl came before her mistress and knelt in penitent greeting.

"Kameyo-sama—"

"Did he have you?" the old woman demanded strictly, cutting her off and sparing no time for excuses. "Did the two of you at least share a cup of tea?"

"No, mistress," the young ninja replied. "I am the tenth lover he has rejected."

Raizo's eyebrow went up and Mika's stomach clenched.

_Tsuyoshi_, she thought at once, as the alarm bells rang loudly throughout her skull. _They're talking about the Izanagi warrior_. She tried to keep her heart beating steadily and failed.

Kameyo's left hand flew out with sudden and feline speed. She flipped open a fan before anyone in the room could even blink or figure where the hell the fan itself came from, and slashed the poor girl's face.

The girl fell backward in a slump as Kameyo told her tersely, "There…now you'll be the lover _every_ man rejects. Think on this moment the _next _time you contemplate reporting failure to me." The old woman's head stiffly snapped towards Raizo. "Get this thing _out_ of my sight."

Mika watched her lover rise to his feet and obey without question, even though his eyes subtly hinted alarm. He helped the fallen ninja gently to her feet and escorted her out of the tent.

Noriko wasted no time. "Izanagi is _on_ to us, Mistress," she rasped lowly. "Tsuyoshi is no fool. He is not _weak_ like the others."

"_I_ can weaken him," Shiori piped up confidently. "Send _me_ to Kyoto, Mistress."

"My dearest idiot child," Kameyo replied crisply, "we have to keep our hands 'clean'…remember? If the Izanagi champion is found dead one week before he is to fight Raizo, we will have seven clans calling foul play. It is amazing we've come as far as we have without detection."

"All due respect, my lady," Mika proffered softly – which she never did – "I don't think the Izanagi are what they pretend to be."

"Of _course_ they're not," Kameyo snorted. "_None_ of us are, Mika. To the other clans, we are the Sisters of Ozunu, the Clan of the Red Sand…the wise and neutral Followers of Takako. In their minds, we would _never_ tamper with so honorable a tournament."

"Apologies, Mistress," Mika pressed politely, "but that's not what I meant." Normally, she kept her mouth shut, but something told her Raizo was in real danger this time. "I think they're keeping something from the clans that no one ever figured out."

Noriko raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Mika swallowed, "my research indicates that they've done _everything_ they can to stay under everyone's radar…_including_ that of the other clans. I think…I think they are far more powerful than we give them credit for, my lady. You've tried everything to bend Tsuyoshi to your will and it's just not working. No man should be able to resist the will of Murasaki for this long, Mistress. It's not…natural."

Kameyo nodded grimly. "I have sent him men, women, boys, girls…nothing appeals to his appetite. What else do we know of Tsuyoshi?"

"Nothing, Mistress," Shiori shook her head. "I too have been reading about his clan…we know very little."

Kameyo immediately looked alarmed. "How is it we've been ignorant of our own kin for so long? Are you telling me that in _five_ centuries of records we have _nothing_ to use to our advantage?" Her voice was rising to a deadly pitch; Mika noticed that even Noriko mildly cringed.

Mika opened her mouth to de-escalate the situation but a messenger entered. She was another of these tall, lithe, stone-faced Murasaki. She announced that the Hanako had arrived.

Kameyo turned to Mika. "Go prepare Raizo," she ordered. "Take his swords to him. And when he has butchered that desert rat, you return to me at once with your research."

"My lady," Mika bowed her head, picking up Raizo's scimitars and exiting the tent gratefully. She didn't miss the angry voices rasping behind her, and was suddenly _very_ glad to be neither Noriko nor Shiori.

Raizo was already in their tent. As he dressed like a desert warrior, wrapping himself in pitch black robes and lacing up his knee-high boots, Mika noticed the wooden goblet on the small table in the center. She smiled briefly at the ritual of the "Last Sip". She took her sip first, and then handed the goblet to him. When he took his and set the goblet down, she helped him tie back and cover his long black hair.

"You almost look like a Bedouin," she chuckled softly. "Always so handsome…no matter they make you wear."

"And you—" he stole a kiss, right before she helped him cover his mouth, "—are ever so beautiful, no matter what that old crazy bat makes _you_ wear."

Mika laughed gaily, pulling Raizo into her arms and holding him close, enjoying his warmth for a moment.

"Are you ready?" she murmured finally. He nodded against her before pulling away.

"I think I will take two swords," Raizo sighed. "Katashi likes to fight with two."

"Are you any good with the scimitar?" Mika asked suddenly, recalling that she'd never actually seen him practice.

He merely shrugged. "It's like riding bike."

They headed out into the night. A torchlit circle awaited them, along with the Hanako Clan and their white flags, and the Murasaki with their red. Lady Hanako was a fearsome woman to behold; tall, solidly built, she had a vicious scar across her face. She wore her soft white hair braided down her back; it matched her long, wispy muslin gown. Her lips pursed as her eyes drilled onto her tall champion.

Whether he was good-looking or not, Mika couldn't tell; like Raizo, Katashi's head and face were covered. Only his silken white sash helped to tell the warriors apart; as Raizo predicted, Katashi was always fighting with two swords.

Shiori stood in place for Kameyo, and Mika didn't need to be told why. The old woman was most assuredly still her tent yelling at her commanders, demanding answers for perpetual failure. And in a weird way, Mika sided with her. The Murasaki were supposed to be experts at getting people off guard and finding appropriate "distractions". What did it say when the _entire_ clan couldn't figure out how to bring _one_ man to heel?

Mika's mind wandered away from the fight; she pondered the desert instead, looking at the distant dunes and windswept plains under the moon. Such beauty... such vast and desolate beauty.

_Like your life will be if you lose Raizo to Tsuyoshi_, Mika suddenly thought. If Raizo died, Kameyo wouldn't set her free. And if Mika didn't leave Hotel Red Sand, Noriko would be upset.

That was _not_ a desirable situation. She had to find away to help him triumph, and it had to be soon. Because after he won tonight, it would only be seven days before he faced Tsuyoshi, the final Tiger.

For a moment, her eyes drifted to the actual fight, where she noted Katashi really was better with the scimitar. He cut Raizo several times with the first couple of minutes, and he maintained a more fluid footing. He was clearly used to practicing in the sands.

Not that it mattered, Mika yawned. Katashi's fate was sealed the day he was chosen to represent his clan. He'd been marked by the Murasaki, and there was no undoing it. Once the Clan of Red Sand set its eyes on you, your life was over, no matter how smooth-sailing it seemed.

So how was it Tsuyoshi confounded them so? Because this latest hiccup in their plans went far beyond the gay-or-straight debate. He had to know what was going on, or at least know something was going on. Something – or someone – had clued him in…but no one else. But how? And why only tell the Izanagi was going on?

Mika yawned again, wondering why she felt so sleepy. It was actually becoming hard to keep her eyes open, which made no sense. She'd slept in late today, made love all afternoon, and then woken again in the early evening. Was she pregnant? And if so, why wasn't she puking her guts out?

She swayed on her feet, first lightly, then more so. She blinked rapidly to fight the onslaught of weariness, only to find her vision blurring. And that's when it suddenly hit her. What was happening had nothing to do with pregnancy or sleepiness.

Her mind flashed back to the wooden goblet of water sitting on the table in their tent.

_Poison_.

Was it the Hanako? The Izanagi? Had Noriko betrayed them?

Her mind swam as she called out Raizo's name. She wasn't the only one; she distantly heard Shiori shouting as a commotion ensued. But Mika was on her back now, fallen into the sands and listening to the frantic footfalls all around her. She heard shouts of "traitor" and "liar" as though voices came from miles away.

She was lay on warm sand, warm, soft sand. But then the earth beneath her hardened, stiffened against her back like planks of wood, while she was suddenly engulfed in cold…and too tired to even panic.

* * *

Raizo awoke disoriented, not knowing where he was. He opened his eyes but could only see the dark. He felt something splash on him, something cold and liquid like rain, but he could also taste salt in his mouth.

_What the hell…?_

"Good," an unfamiliar voice creepily called from the dark. It was male and silkily insidious, very much like Takeshi's…and yet different somehow. Colder. Less bitter. "You're waking up. Took you long enough."

Raizo tried to speak, but he found his whole body was still sluggish and unmoving. The words seemed to thicken and still in his throat.

"Most people don't transition well into the Shadow Lands," the voice mocked, "but then again…it's not a common skill to travel between worlds."

_Between worlds?_ Raizo blinked slowly. _Am I dead?_

"In fact," the voice went on, "none but the Izanagi ever mastered the skill. Fuck…none of the other clans even know the skill exists."

_Izanagi__!_ Raizo inwardly gasped.

He was still too confused to panic. Even as his senses sharpened and his limbs slowly unlocked, Raizo still didn't feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

He smelled salt on the air now, and could feel the regular spraying of water. Beneath him, hard wooden planks seemed to subtly rock from side to side. He blinked, opening his eyes wider as his vision cleared, still seeing only pitch night…and masts…and black sails lit by pale and distant ghostly moonlight.

"I'm aboard a ship?" he murmured to himself, not even surprised he could speak aloud now. How the hell did he get from the desert to the sea aboard a rickety old wooden ship? How long had he been out? Hours? Days?

Raizo rose to his feet cautiously, looking at his surroundings. Indeed, he was on a ship, seemingly abandoned. There was nothing but black and open sea surrounding him. The black sails of the ship fluttered in ominous delicacy, and he still couldn't place the moon's exact location in the sky.

He was still in his desert warrior clothes. Raizo pried off the soaked cloth about his head, breathing in rich salt sea air.

"Where the f—?"

"Don't bother trying to figure out where you are, Raizo; you'll hurt yourself in the process," the voice snorted, seemingly bodiless and echoic at first, until a figured from across the bridge emerged from the shadowed cabin doorway. He was tall, very pale, very slender, and had a refined bearing like a prince from the ancient days. His jet black hair was so long it reached his hips. His clothes were dark, plain, and he appeared unarmed.

"Hello, Raizo," he greeted politely. "I am Izanagi Tsuyoshi, and you are on the Barge of the Damned."

Raizo blinked. "I'm…dead?"

"No," Tsuyoshi snickered, flashing an excruciatingly pretty grin. "Not yet anyway."

* * *

_~ **TBC **in "The Condemned" ~_

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry to disappoint...I know the final fight was supposed to take place in Kyoto, but then I watched the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ marathon last week, started thinking about the game "Killer Instinct 2", and the character Alti from _Xena_, and the next thing I knew...I got an all new idea for the ending.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N:** I never intended this fic to go on this long. I never intended to write a fic for this movie, period; I merely came on here to enjoy other people's work. I wrote this strictly as a quick example as to how women of color prefer to see ourselves in fic. It's not all about our bodies, but when it is, for heaven's sake...get it right._

_I want to thank everyone who's read this for their support and wonderful compliments. I don't write fight scenes well at all. And I while I can write a good sex scene every once in a while, I can't keep it going. So I thought I'd end this doing what I do best: dialogue and characterization._

_And now, without further ado, I present the final chapter & epilogue for "Oh, Mika, Mika."_

_Thanks for sharing the adventure!_

**

* * *

The Condemned**

_Jizan, Saudi Arabia, in the Waking World_

"Your insinuation offends, Kameyo-san," Lady Hanako spat bitterly. Her snow-white gown was stained with the blood of slain ninjas; Shiori had personally disposed of the warrior Katashi when Mika Coretti's body first hit the sands. Hanako gripped a bloodied _tachi_, while Lady Kameyo viciously brandished her bladed fan. The two old women circled very slowly like tigers. Several bodies lay at their feet, while behind them, their ninja regrouped.

"Prune-skinned whore," Kameyo snarled back at her. "You are as godless as any of the other heathen clan leaders."

"We are Hanako," she rasped venomously. "If there is any shred of honor amongst the clans it rests with us, you old, _shriveled_, narrow-minded bitch."

"Hanako history is _rife_ with the poisoning of its enemies!"

"As if your two-faced geisha and _oiran_ ancestors were any different!" Hanako snorted. "And I _marvel_ at you calling me a whore when there isn't a man alive who hasn't seen the opened legs of a Murasaki!"

Kameyo brought up her fan for an overhead strike when Noriko shouted for them to stop.

"Kameyo-sama, Hanako-sama – Raizo and Mika are still alive!"

"What?" Kameyo snapped over her shoulder, unwilling to take her eyes off her long-time rival.

"They're not dead," Noriko called to them. "Their hearts are beating normally. They just seem to be…asleep."

Lady Hanako raised an eyebrow. "Asleep? Why poison a warrior if only to put them to sleep?"

She and Kameyo lowered their weapons and slowly backed away from each other.

"Leave the desert tonight," Kameyo hissed dangerously. "Pack up your dead and go. Your champion has fallen. And unless you want the rest of the clans to think Katashi poisoned his opponent, you will keep this 'unfortunate' incident strictly between us."

_

* * *

The Barged of the Damned, the Shadow Lands_

"It's amazing what being declared clan champion does for a man's sex life," Tsuyoshi snorted, going to stand by the boat's edge. "You can imagine my surprise when men _and_ women suddenly started pouring out of the woodwork, seemingly out of nowhere, each one eagerly promising to fuck me up one side and down the other…when merely one day earlier _none_ of you assholes even bothered to learn my name.

"Now, I may not be the fearsome last-member-standing of the dreaded Clan of Black Sand," he smiled wryly, "but I _am_ a ninja, Raizo. I can smell a setup from miles away."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Raizo replied immediately. He was still too confused to panic, or even feel creeped out, even though Tsuyoshi gave off the eerie vibe in economy-sized waves.

"Of course, you don't," Tsuyoshi snickered. "If Kameyo-sama had a back-up plan to ensure Murasaki victory – and you'd be naïve to think she didn't – do you really think she'd share it with _you?_ Have you been parted from the Ozunu for so long you've forgotten your rightful place as pawn?"

Raizo was growing irritated. "Minutes ago I was in the desert. Now I'm on the sea – how? How is that possible?"

"You've been slaughtered like a pig and yet lived to tell the tale," Tsuyoshi laughed. "You've disappeared into thin air – how are _those_ things possible? Come on, Raizo…the old people called us 'demons' for a reason." He suddenly turned away from Raizo, looking across the black and endless sea. His voice dripped venom when he spoke next. "Have you ever _met_ a real demon, Raizo?"

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Raizo demanded, finally impatient. He didn't do well with long-winded and cryptic. He was a warrior, not a wise man. "I was in the _desert_, just moments ago. _How am I here?_"

"You're _still_ in the desert, dumb-ass," Tsuyoshi rolled his eyes. "At least your body is. Funny thing about the human body, Raizo: it can survive without limbs. Without several internal organs even. But the mind?" He tsked and shook his head. "Take away the mind and the body is _fucked_."

Raizo blinked, trying to put the pieces together. "So this is my mind?"

"No," Tsuyoshi snorted. "_You_ are your mind, just as I am mine. And this—" he gestured to the boat and sea, "—_this_ is the Realm of the Shadow. It's from here that all ninja derive our…_unusual_ abilities. Our ancestors learned to tap into its power centuries ago. But not until my clan came was anyone smart enough to wonder, 'Hey…what would happened it we actually entered the Realm itself?'"

"And so you brought me here to…'kill' my mind?" Raizo paused. "Kill me before our fight, using an ability no else knows about? How cowardly is that?"

"No, see _cowardly_ would be to use _pussy_ to neutralize the enemy, Raizo!" Tsuyoshi snapped. "Whatever tactic the Murasaki are using is low. It's beneath you. It's beneath us both. But here…here we are our truest selves. Wars are not won with the sword, but the will, Raizo, and in the Shadow Lands, only those with the strongest will can survive."

_

* * *

I…__**hate**__…boats_.

Behind where Raizo stood on the Barge was another doorway to another cabin. On the floor of that cabin, Mika was slowly coming to, her head pounding miserably. She wanted to shout through the door to tell Tsuyoshi to pipe down for a minute until her migraine passed, but she figured that since neither man knew she was even there, it was probably best to keep silent.

She had always wondered about the ninja ability to heal or to vanish from plain sight. She had always wondered why the ancient writings called them all demons, supposedly "summoned from the depths of hell."

Now she was here, amidst the dark and terrifying source of their power.

If Ryan Maslow were here, he'd tell her she'd truly and finally taken her research too far. And for the first time ever, she'd agree with him.

Her limbs were all in tact. She was still wearing the same muslin dress she'd worn back in the desert. Her hair was the same, as far as she could tell, as were her sandals. As her mind cleared, the pain subsided; after all, she shouldn't be feeling any pain. She wasn't _really_ here…just her mind.

Mika rose to her feet, creeping to the door to better listen to conversation. She had to remain undetected at all costs.

"Do you remember your parents, Raizo?" Tsuyoshi asked suddenly, his words steeped in bitterness. "Do you recall what it was like to be abandoned by those who bore you?"

It was now Raizo's turn to snicker. "Is this the part where you try to remind me of my loyalty to the Ozunu? You gonna try to guilt trip me into some shame-fest about how I'm a traitor and a coward and don't deserve to live? Save it, kiddo," he chuckled. "I don't know how it is in your clan, but in mine, remorse was simply a waste of time."

"_Please_," Tsuyoshi rolled his eyes pretty eyes once more. "There isn't a ninja alive who hasn't dreamt of butchering their whole clan just for shits and giggles. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you didn't snap back in the day when they executed Kiriko. But then again, you _were_ Ozunu's golden boy. You didn't want to fuck with the destiny he promised you." Tsuyoshi added with relish, "You saw his powers. You wanted them for yourself."

"Every orphan wants power," Raizo chortled. "My farmers were broke, illiterate farmers from South Korea. I was their ninth child, and their sixth one to survive past the age of three. We had nothing, owned nothing, sometimes went days eating nothing. I don't remember their names or what they looked like, but that I hated them? You bet I remember _that_. When I was taken from them and given a new name, Lord Ozunu gave me the first real meal in ages. A hot bowl of noodles was all it took to make me forget my family.

"Now, I'm guessing," Raizo smirked, "by your choice of a ship and sea to represent the Shadow Lands, _your_ father was a fisherman."

"Yeah," Tsuyoshi nodded, looking out onto the endless depths. "That he was."

"Some unresolved issues, I take it?" Raizo laughed emptily. "Something you can't seem to get over, no matter how many people you ice?"

"You were taken from your parents," Tsuyoshi said solemnly, before looking him in the eye and adding, "Izanagi _bought_ me from mine."

Raizo paused for a moment. He'd heard of such kids while growing up in the halls of Ozunu, the ones whose parents willingly sold them. Takeshi was such a child, and _like_ Takeshi, they always grew up to be _major_ sociopaths.

"See, Raizo, you strike me as a person who's not loyal to a lot of people," Tsuyoshi continued with scary calm. "In fact, I don't think you even know what loyalty is. You just go with the flow. Your family doesn't feed you? Fine, you'll behave for Ozunu because _he_ will. You liked your little childhood sweetheart and awful lot, but not enough to do something when a guy you hated cut out her heart. The Murasaki want you to fight? Sure, as long as you get to sleep in nice hotels, eat at the best restaurants, and fuck a really hot woman every night – why not? I mean, _Ozunu_ never gave you any perks like that. _His_ idea of a fringe benefit was a broken, tacky faux gold watch." Tsuyoshi laughed. "Some of these clan leaders can be such misers, am I right?"

Raizo was now beyond annoyed. "Is there a _point_ to this?"

"Yeah, bro," Tsuyoshi grinned. "There's a word for people like you: whore. You'll unsheathe that big, dangerous sword of yours and wield it for anyone who's willing to give you what you want. Like that Mika Coretti chick. Once you burned down the halls of Ozunu, did you ever tell her she was safe so long as she _didn't_ have your ass hanging around her, drawing unwanted attention? Did you tell her upfront why you weren't disappearing back into the shadows where you belonged? Or did you lie to her, Raizo? Did you promise her a 'normal' life? A _shido_ for two with a white picket fence high up in the mountains? 'Cause I get it, man – I've _seen_ Mika. For a taste of _that_, I'd tell her _anything_ she wanted to hear!"

"I _love_ Mika," Raizo hissed. "And I don't expect a soulless fuck like you to know _anything_ about what that means."

"I know that when you love something, sometimes you have to let it go, for its own good," Tsuyoshi smirked wryly. "I know that when a woman you love is in danger, you don't go making all the big decisions with your _dick_, Raizo. I mean, _seriously_, bro…when you're pounding away between those dark thighs, and sucking on those perfect tits, are you even _thinking_ about what could happen to her tomorrow? About what's going to happen to her when you _don't_ wake up tonight?"

"I don't know what _your_ plans are for the evening," Raizo bit out, "but you best believe I'm not sticking around here forever."

Tsuyoshi looked genuinely amused. "Yes, you are," he nodded slowly. "See, it is _my_ will which brought us here. The only way out is through me and I've been sailin' these here waters a _lot_ longer than you. Here," he sneered, "the strongest _mind_ wins, and _your_ mind is just too fickle, bro."

_

* * *

Back in the Waking World_

Shiori put down her pen flashlight and let Mika's right eyelid close. "As far as I can tell," she sighed, "they're in some sort of state which mimics the REM stage of the sleep cycle. There's a difference, but only a subtle one."

Kameyo sniffed the wooden goblet from which Raizo and Mika drank. "I don't smell anything, but that doesn't mean something isn't in here."

"Whatever it was," Noriko reasoned, pacing the tent, "it was powerful enough to knock them _both_ out with a single sip." She shrugged helplessly. "I've never heard of such a poison. Our poisons _kill_; they don't put people in comatose states. I've never read of _anything_ like this in our records, Mistress."

"It seems," the old woman sighed, "that Mika was right. The Izanagi have been holding out on us."

"But to what end?" Shiori asked. "Does their clan want to a different champion to face Tsuyoshi? Did they think they had a better chance at success if Raizo was out of the running?"

"Preemptive strike," Noriko murmured softly. "We had our Plan B, and they had theirs."

"And they tried to pin it on the Hanako," Shiori nodded. "We've underestimated their cleverness."

"No more," Kameyo shook her head. "Put this incident in the records. And from hereon out, tell our all ninja to keep the Izanagi at arm's length. Send new spies to Kyoto. And Noriko, get me Hotel Red Sand on the phone. I need Kimiyo to look through our herbal lexicons."

While Noriko rose to do her mistress's bidding, Shiori lingered by Mika's side for a moment.

"I don't know what new mess you and that worthless man of yours are in now," she whispered, "but I will do what I can to bring you back." She took one of the silver crossbow bolts she'd given Mika as a gift and placed it in her right hand. "Remember I am with you, Mika."

She leaned to softly kiss Mika's lips, sighing, "You _still_ taste like pineapple."

_

* * *

On the Barge of the Damned_

Mika touched her lips, blinking in confusion at the feel of another's when no one stood before her. She looked down at her right hand, where cold metal had suddenly appeared and blinked again.

_Crossbow bolt?_

She padded her robes quickly in the dark, and yes, sure enough, her trusty new crossbow was strapped to her side.

But who touched her lips? And how was it she'd gotten the bolt? Was it because someone placed it on her person? Is that how the Shadow Lands worked?

_If it's touching you…does that mean it 'crosses over'?_

Mika racked her brain, trying piece things together. When ninja vanished into the shadows, their clothing vanished with them. All ninja abilities were derived from the Shadow Lands.

She'd been carrying her crossbow with her when she collapsed back in the desert, but not the bolts. She had not wanted to waste pure silver bolts.

Shiori had given her those beautiful silver bolts. It was probably Shiori kissing her now, worrying for her safety. Mika's heart suddenly warmed to the Murasaki spitfire, regretting every mean though she'd ever had about her. Even now, after everything, Shiori still cared.

Mika picked up her crossbow, and slowly, carefully began to load it. Just one shot. Only one shot.

Best to take her time and make it count.

* * *

"Believe it or not, I respect you, Raizo," Tsuyoshi mused. "Many of us respect you, and are grateful you rid us of your asshole mentor. But you also helped to shed unnecessary light on _all_ the clans, which has _not_ gone over too well."

"Good," Raizo spat. "You can all die, as far as I'm concerned."

"See what I mean?" Tsuyoshi laughed. "First, you're thinking about sticking with the Murasaki as their champion, wallowing neck deep in Kameyo's favor. And _now_ you don't care if she and hers get killed off or imprisoned? How come you don't wish the same for you, Raizo? What makes you think you're better than us? What makes _you_ exempt from punishment? Your little crush on a long-dead ex? This fleeting, meaningless fuck-fest you have with Mika? What makes you think you're more deserving of the Day World than we are?"

"Because I _believe_ in choice," Raizo rasped lowly. "I don't know what you thought you'd accomplish by bringing me here, Tsuyoshi, but you're not getting _shit_ from me. You're right about one thing, though…I _am_ better. I don't have to blackmail anyone or threaten their life just to make them stay with me. See, I never _had_ to tell Mika she was in danger. She knew. She _always_ knew. But she never balked because our being danger was _never_ the main issue between us. I love her, she loves me, and as far as we're concerned, _nothing_ else us matters.

"_You_ people, on the other hand, are like a desperate one-night stand who _can't take a hint_," Raizo hissed poisonously. "Different clan names, different abilities, same shit-for-brains underneath. Get a clue, already: Mika and I _don't give a_ _fuck_ about _any_ of you."

Tsuyoshi opened his pretty mouth to fire something back, but behind Raizo, the cabin door suddenly flung wide, followed by a shrill, whizzing sound. Raizo turned to face the sound, saw Mika, and instinctively moved to place himself between her and Tsuyoshi. But when he turned, he met the glassy stare of his enemy. Protruding from the ninja's skull was the silver end of a crossbow bolt, with brilliant red blood seeping down the front of his face. When his body hit the deck of the bridge, the black sea calmed, and the Shadow Lands filled with perfect silence.

Coming back from the Shadow Lands was like being resuscitated after almost drowning. Raizo and Mika woke in their tent, gasping for breath and clutching their chests in throbbing pain. One of the Murasaki assigned to watch them called for her mistress, who came rushing in followed by Shiori and Noriko.

Even though their experience was brief, it seemed to take forever to explain. With each new description, the horror on Kameyo's face became even more pronounced.

"We must alert the other clans," Noriko said finally. "The Izanagi have kept this secret long enough."

"Everyone's going to go frantically combing through their history now," Shiori gasped, "looking for incidents of clan members who suddenly fell asleep, never to wake."

"It will mean war for certain," Kameyo murmured to no one in particular, looking even older all of a sudden. "There will be no way to stop it this time. None will listen to reason." She suddenly looked at Raizo and Mika. "You are the only ones known to survive this. You have to help us."

"No," Raizo shook his head firmly. "Not again. I fought in your tournament. All seven Tigers are dead. I _kept_ my part of the bargain, Kameyo, so the way I see it, Mika and I are free to go."

Kameyo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see differently."

Raizo's eyes narrowed just as tightly. "_I don't care_."

He deftly snatched up a nearby scimitar, while behind him, Mika wordlessly loaded her crossbow and aimed.

Kameyo hissed over her shoulder to Noriko, "Well? What are you waiting for? _Kill him!_"

"You know," Raizo sighed wearily, "after a while, that line gets _really_ old. You clan leaders seriously need to get together and come up with a new one."

Silence filled the tent as none of the Murasaki moved to obey their mistress. Kameyo turned scorching eyes onto her commander.

"Noriko!"

"No," the young commander shook her head. "No more. This madness of yours is over. You brought a man into our clan and tainted the purity of our legacy. You turned our warriors into mere entertainment for an outsider, and even worse…you drink like a washed-up prostitute haunting the back alleys of Tokyo." Noriko unsheathed her sword. "Raizo and Mika are free to go.

"But _you_, 'Tortoise Woman'…you've outlived your wisdom. You are no longer necessary."

A split second later, the old woman's head rolled across the tent floor.

**

* * *

Epilogue: Hotel Red Sand**

_Bordeaux, France_

_Two days later_

"Are you sure you don't want to take your things with you?" Shiori asked as she watched Mika pack the last of things in her old room. She picked up Mika's golden headdress. "Somewhere, Kameyo is rolling in her grave bemoaning such expensive fashion going to waste."

Mika laughed. "Put them in the clan vaults," she said. "And write a good story about me in your diary to go with them."

"At least take the crossbow and bolts," Shiori insisted. "To keep you safe?"

"Let's be real," Mika sighed. "No one's coming after me. The Izanagi have been lying to their fellow clans for over five hundred years. Ain't _no_ way Raizo and I are still a priority to _anyone_." She yawned. "I bet you they're so mad, they don't even remember our names. It's going to be awesome returning to anonymity."

"Where will you go now?"

Mika raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask? So you can drop in every now and again?"

Shiori shrugged. "I promise not to kill your husband when I do."

"As if you could," came Raizo's iron voice from the doorway. He looked at Mika with a neutral gaze. "Are you ready to go?"

"Eager actually," she told him, hoisting her duffle bag over her right shoulder. "Shiori, it's been sweet, but you _know_ it would never have worked out between us." She gave the ninja a polite peck on the cheek before following Raizo out the door.

They met Lady Noriko on the way out of Hotel Red Sand; Mika almost didn't recognize her with her fine scarlet kimono and her hair done up elaborately. She certainly didn't look comfortable in her new threads, or her in new role as leader of the Murasaki Clan.

She didn't speak to them, nor they to her. At this point, there was nothing left to say.

And besides, the world of daylight was waiting.


End file.
